Mother Knows Best
by Nefarious61
Summary: Non-magic AU. When Narcissa Malfoy interferes in Draco's life, she changes not only her son's, but another boy's life as well. A boy who has been through more tragedies than he'd care to admit. HPDM Slash.
1. Picture Perfect

**Rating: **It's not now, but it'll be M, eventually.

**Warnings: **Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness. Future drug use.

**Summary: **Non-magic AU. Narcissa Malfoy knows her son. She knows that something needs to be done before he withdraws completely into himself, but when she interferes, she changes not only her sons, but another boys life as well... HPDM slash.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the series.

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**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter One**

**Picture Perfect**

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Flying over the railing of a beautiful white balcony, a small, black butterfly landed on the filtered end of a lit cigarette that was resting in a crystal ashtray. In the background, the sky was a light shade of blue, littered with ciro-cumulus clouds, blocking out most of the suns bright rays that usually frequented this time of year. The scene made a slightly ironic picture, looked as if it represented something. The butterfly, signifying death with its black color, landing upon a coffin nail, as some would call it. It made a statement.

_Click. Beep._

A camera flashes, quickly capturing the image before the butterfly decides to take off, the cigarette looking banal with its departure, but leaving a memory behind in the picture. A picture taken by something far more beautiful than the picture itself.

He was clothed in a long sleeved, white collared shirt, under a black, silver buttoned vest and matching black pants. Long, shiny, shampoo commercial-worthy white-blond hair framed his unblemished, porcelain-like face, falling just above his narrow chin, constantly being pushed behind his ears. Impossibly high cheekbones and gorgeous gray-blue, almost effeminate eyes made his features seem more delicate, elegant as all of his surroundings. His long, slender hand brought the cigarette up to full, nearly red lips, lazily inhaling the harmful mentholated smoke before bringing it back down to put out in the ashtray, only halfway finished and just in time.

A knock at his bedroom door causes him to stand, out of the somewhat uncomfortable painted steel chair. Walking through the sliding glass doors, he entered his imaculate bedroom, closing the doors, flipping the lock over, and pulling the thick white curtains closed behind him.

"Yes?" he calls, expecting his mother.

Instead, an elderly Malfoy household butler opened the door halfway, informing him that his mother was on her way up. In other words, the man was making sure he didn't get caught smoking the cigarettes that he had blackmailed the man into getting for him. Not that he smoked often, only on stressful occasions, which he was sure today would most definitely be.

He dismissed the old man with a flick of his wrist and flopped down on the small sofa by his door with little to no grace at all, one arm lazily resting atop the backrest, awaiting his mother. Sure enough, a couple minutes later she walked in, not bothering to knock, closing the door behind her.

"Are you sure that every things been packed, darling?" she questioned, surveying his clothes, making sure they weren't wrinkled. When answered with an affirmative, her eyes narrowed speculatively. "Have you checked?"

Draco sighed, shaking his head. "I told them what goes and what doesn't, Mother." She nodded, sitting down beside him, crossing her ankles and flipping her long hair over her shoulder like she was Miss America.

Many people have said that Draco is the spitting image of his father, Lucius, but those people have obviously never met his mother. Of course, he did inherit a portion of his fathers regal looks, but he leaned more toward his mothers side of the gene pool with the same petite body structure and stunningly beautiful facial features. His parents looked a lot alike, though, so it was hard to tell who he favored more.

Distant relatives would often joke about how Lucius and Narcissa looked as if they'd been seperated at birth they looked so much alike (which used to scare the hell out of him), but while Lucius' extremely long hair was almost white, Narcissa had a light golden-blonde color. In the right light, Draco's own hair could sometimes seem more blonde than white. And while his father had steel-gray eyes, his had some blue in them. Again, much like his mothers.

"Does that stay then, dear?" his mother asked. He was momentarily confused until his saw her gesturing toward his chest. He lowered his gaze to the camera hanging from his neck. "Oh. No, I rather keep it close by, just in case." She nodded understandingly.

"You know how much your father disapproves of this hobby of yours, darling. Just keep it out of sight until your at the academy, would you?"

Draco considered it for a moment, then nodded. He would already have to endure listening to his fathers before-school 'this is a very important year for you' lecture, he didn't want to hear the 'your wasting your time with that ridiculous hobby' lecture, too. He slipped slim camera into the inner pocket of his designer vest and sighed. What were the odds of seeing something worth taking a picture of on the long, boring ride to school, anyway?

"Something wrong?" Narcissa inquired, mildly concerned. She had noticed, of course, that her son had become more and more reclusive over the past year or so, but he seemed to be very depressed lately. She'd thought he'd be excited about this being his senor year at Hogwarts Academy, but so far, everytime the subject came up he seemed even more depressed.

Draco didnt speak for a while and when he did, it was thoughtful, hesitant and unsure.

"Have you ever felt... stuck? Like nothings ever going to change... and you're always going to feel like you're waiting for something to happen? Like the more you try to make people proud and... " he stopped, taking a deep breath. "I don't know how to describe it ..." he trailed off, shaking his head, crestfallen. He felt his mother take his hand and squeeze it softly.

"Draco, listen to me. When has your father ever been happy?" she asked bluntly, never one to beat around the bush.

Both of them already knowing the answer, she didn't give him a chance to speak. "You could spend your entire life, _miserable_, trying to be someone that you're not, trying to make him happy, make him proud of you and knowing that nothing may _ever_ be enough, or you could live your life being who you are and making yourself happy," she said, smiling at him softly. After a moment her eyes took on a wicked glint. "And who knows, you might even find the," she cleared her throat pointedly, "_Person_ that can make you ha-"

"Mother!" he interjected, glaring and fighting back a blush, knowing _exactly _what she meant by 'person'. Nobody but his mother knew about his sexual preference, and she loved to tease him about it. He mentally cursed her intuition, but secretly wished his father was as accepting as her and not such a homophobe. He _never_ wanted to be gay, wouldn't be if he had any choice at all in the matter, but after so long of hating himself over not being able to change it, he decided that trying to ignore it was better than accepting it. It wasn't easy, however, with his mother constantly reminding him that there was something wrong with him.

After she stopped laughing at her sons embarressment, Narcissa spoke again, completely serious. "My point is that your at a very important age. The choices you make today _will_ effect your future, whether you like it or not. This is a choice you have to make on your own. Now, I know you're almost an adult and I can't make your choices for you anymore, but I hope you make the right decision, darling." She pushed a lock of hair behind his ear. "Just remember not to be anyone but yourself," she finished, pulling him into a hug which he returned thankfully, like the momma's boy he sometimes despised himself for being.

"I'll miss you, Mother," he said, his head on her shoulder.

She laughed softly. "Whatever for? I'll be visiting every two months or so."

He pulled away completely and looked at her questioningly, brow furrowed. "What do you-" he began, but was interrupted by another knock at the door.

"Yes?" he called impatiently. The same butler from before opened the door, telling them that 'Master Malfoy' and the limousine his father requested were waiting for them at the entrance.

Narcissa was the first to stand, Draco following quickly, making their way to the first staircase.

"Mother, what did you mean when you said you'll be visiting every two months?" he questioned, matching his Mother's quick, confidant steps down the long staircase.

She sent a glare his way, not stopping in her stride. "Draco Lucius Malfoy, I told you this just last night! You didn't listen to a word I said, did you?" she scolded. "Mrs. Zabini is going to Dublin next month and asked me to keep an eye on her son while she's away."

"As in _Blaise _Zabini? Why would his mother ask you to do that?" he asked, forgetting his problems for the moment in the favor of getting more information. His mother usually only ever vistited his Academy about three to four times a school year.

"Well, if you were listening last night, you'd know," she said simply, proving how stubborn she could be and making Draco sigh dramatically.

"Mother, please. I had a lot of things on my mind at the moment."

She pretended to consider it, her lips started to twitch upwards at the almost-pout her son was giving her. "Fine. Mr. Zabini is taking away Blaise's private room at Hogwart's," she said, amused.

Draco raised an eyebrow, sharing in his mother's amusment and not at all sympathetic to his schoolmate. "Is he, now. Do you know why?"

"Oh, yes. And from what I hear, Blaise totaled his fourth BMW at the beginning of summer. Mr. Zabini thought his son was getting to be spoiled and unappreciative." Draco laughed.

"So, where's he staying?" he questioned, interested.

"The dorms."

Draco gave her a surprised look. "Seriously? Poor guy."

Narcissa stared at him from the corner of her eyes for moment, as if considering something, before saying, "I think it'll be good for him."

Draco grimaced. "Ugh. Staying in a room with five other people is hardly fair, Mother," he said, now truly feeling sorry for the unfortunate Zabini boy.

His mother ignored him. "It'll give him a chance to make new friends, don't you think?

"Zabini has no trouble making _friends,_ Mother," he commented, then shuddered, remembering one incident in particular where he went to class early and walked in on what looked like Zabini and some girl trying to climb each other.

"Is that jealousy I hear?" she laughed, while wondering if it would be at all possible to install an elevator in the manor.

Draco scoffed. "Of course not. His friends only like him because they want to get in good with his parents," he drawled.

"And yours don't?" Narcissa quipped.

Draco glared straight ahead, but said nothing. Why did his mother have to be right about everything? No matter how much he would like to believe otherwise, he knew that the people who called themselves his friends and followed him around like he was the fucking teenage Messiah only did so because his parents were important people.

Lucius Malfoy was one of the most influential lobbyist in the country. Normally, a lobbyist is someone who's job it is to persuade legislator's to vote for bill's that the lobbyist favor. That's it. His father, however, often accepted bribes and blackmailed companies that possessed a great amount of money and power. When he accepts bribes from companies that have reason to think that if a certain bill is passed, then a portion of their money would be lost or their jobs would go bye-bye. And then, only after giving him what he wanted or a very generous amount of money, Lucius would have the task of convincing the legislators whatever he wanted them to. He succeeded more often then not.

Blackmailing was alot easier, though, because he was the one going to them. Lucius would chose a company that he knew he could destroy with a simple speach and basically tell them that he'll ruthlessly do so if they dont give him what he wants. The company would then be faced with the decision of giving in and losing a lot and or refusing and losing everything, including their integrity.

Guess which one they chose.

Lucius was a very persuasive man. Everyone, except for his wife, knows that he wasn't one to be argued with. If he could prove somebody wrong, then he's automatically right. He could easily twist someones words around so much that they would be arguing with themselves in no time at all. He could convince people that day was night if he got paid enough for it.

Draco's mother was a completely different story, however. A major difference is the fact that she, unlike her husband, had morals. Another difference is that instead of selling lies, she sold clothes.

Narcissa Malfoy was a couturier. Before she married Draco's Father, Narcissa Black was the entrepreneur of _Black_ clothing and accessories. Having been brought up in a wealthy family and having a passion for design, she had no problem whatsoever rising to the top of the fashion food chain worldwide. She no longer has to come up with the designs, however, but any and all important decisions are made by her. Ever wonder who brought back bell-bottoms?

This was the reason why Draco had so many followers. What girl wouldn't want to date a boy who could get designer clothes before they go on sale and front row seats to any fashion show in the country? What boy wouldn't want to be friends with the son of someone who had as much sway as Lucius Malfoy?

"Stand up straight, darling, don't slouch," Narcissa chided, seeing Lucius standing at the entrance gate as they approached.

Draco did as he was told, holding his head high, straightening his spine and bringing himself to his full height, going into what his mother liked to call 'perfect-son mode'. His father didn't even spare him a glance as they entered the vehicle, too busy arguing over his cellphone with whoever was on the other end.

Looking out the window at the passing scenery, he remembered the first time he took this long trip to school. He was thirteen, and they'd just returned from a two year stay in Manchester. He was excited, having been privately tutored until that point, and he had never really been around many children his age growing up. Lucius lectured him the entire ride there about what it means to be a Malfoy. How to speak, how to act, even how to _eat_. Nothing his Father told him, however, had prepared him for his first year at Hogwarts.

Hogwarts Academy was nothing he expected it to be. He thought it was only for children with money, but a lot of the students got in on grades alone. Most of the wealthier children knew who he was immediately, their parents having told them who his parents were and how important it was not to get on his bad side. A lot of the other first years looked up to him. He was incredibly shy at first, unsure of his new surroundings and independance, something he would never admit to out loud now, but the attention went to his head in no time. They laughed at his every joke, every dirty prank he did to entertain them, even though they were being made at other peoples expense. They practically worshiped the ground he walked on and he thrived on it.

When some of the other children found out who he was, they detested him. They thought his father was an malevolent, power-hungry, evil man. While that statement wasn't completely untrue, his father was his hero. And even if he wasn't, Draco didn't think it fair that they were judging him on who his father was. Hypocritical of him, yes, since he loved it when they were thinking highly of him because of his father, but... he was young.

After a while though, he started to see how fake his 'friends' smiles were. How they only laughed when he did, or when they thought they were _suppose_ to, and how all conversation would halt when he entered the room. How the students that first kept their distance and looked at him like they were waiting to see if he was like his father, like they were carefully evaluating his character and waiting to be proved wrong, started to see him as if he _was_ his father and openly glared at him in the hallways. He started to realise how many people hated him and how many pretended not to. It was another thing Draco hated himself for, allowing himself to be so blinded by the limelight that he couldn't see it all before, but he knew this year would be no different than the previous four.

"Draco."

"Yes, Father?" he questioned respectfully. Lucius observed him for a moment with narrowed, cold gray eyes before turning them turned toward his mother.

"Are you _trying _to turn our son into a mannequin for your designs?" he drawled, obviously noticing the brand of clothing his son was wearing. Draco rolled his eyes discreetly.

"Of course not, dear. He could never stay still for that long. You, however..." she trailed off, looking pointedly to the cane that she had designed herself, making Draco hold back a smirk. To this day, Draco could never understand why his father carried the thing around with him. He knew his father didn't have any injuries. He remembered it had something to do with appearances.

Lucius' eyes narrowed even further, determined to ignore the jibe. "You're making him a walking advertisement, Narcissa."

"Do you think I forced him into that outfit with a gun to his head?" she asked, eyebrows raised. "I think he looks fabulous," she said, flashing a proud smile to Draco, who merely raised a brow. His mother truly amazed him sometimes. She must be the only person on the planet who could win an argument with Lucius Malfoy in less than two minutes.

Lucius glared at the word 'fabulous', but dropped the subject regardless. He turned to Draco and began his before-school lecture. Draco got as far as "This is a very important year, Draco. I don't want you ..." before he tuned him out, making sure to nod in the appropriate places.

The rest of the ride was dreadfully boring and Draco had to pinch himself several times during the end of his Father's speech to keep himself from nodding off. Once they arrived, he saw the groundskeeper, Hagrid, or as Draco referred to him, the giant oaf, opening the large, black gate to allow them entrance.

Draco had spread a great deal of rumors about the man. He didn't have anything against him personally, but the man scared him shitless. Draco was the size of one of the mans legs, for goodness sake. Well, maybe that was a little dramatic, but still, Hagrid was huge and it was enough to intimidate Draco into disliking him.

"I can't believe that barbarian is still working here. I thought they would've fired the moron by now," his father snarled, looking at the man like he was the dirt on the bottom of his precious cane. Draco wondered for a moment if his father was scared of him, too, but then passed the thought off as ridiculous. He thought he saw his mother roll her eyes at Lucius' comment, though.

When they exited the limousine, Hagrid was crossing the excessively huge, almost empty parking lot, most likely to bring in Draco's luggage. An objection of that man touching aything belonging to him was on the tip of Draco's tongue, but after deciding it was pointless, he looked up to survey the school.

Hogwarts Academy was separated into four buildings. The two story entrance, dorm, and private buildings, and the three story main building. The entrance building was the smallest, standing in the middle of the private and dorm buildings.

The first floor of the private building was for the students individual rooms, who have to pay extra, of course. The second floor was for guests and the teachers who stay year-round. The dorm building was the same size as the private edifice, but both floors are for the student dorm rooms. The first floor was for the boy's, second for girls.

The main building was in the back and bigger than all three front buildings put together. The first floor had the main hall/cafeteria, kitchens, storage, laundry, gymnasium, weight room and much more having to deal with the staff. The library was on the second floor along with classrooms and professors offices, he same going for the third floor.

Draco's mother had attended when she was a girl and had made the decision of sending him here. His father didn't approve much, mostly because he thought the Headmaster was a senile old coot, but ended up giving in to his wifes wishes in the end. Sometimes Draco thinks his mother should've been the lobbyist.

Draco followed his parents into the entrance building, across the large lobby that already had a few families saying fairwell to their children, meeting with Professor McGonagall at the bottom of the winding staircase that led to the Headmasters office. Not a word spoken, she checked 'Malfoy' off of her clipboard and gestured them upstairs, knowing they would want to speak with the Headmaster. They did so, Narcissa knocking politely before pushing the door open.

The Headmaster's office was odd. He had strange antiques and furniture everywhere. Everytime Draco went in here he felt like he was in a museum. The Headmaster himself was even stranger, though.

At the moment, Dumbledore was standing in front of his desk, a broad smile on his old, bearded face.

"Narcissa, my dear, you're as beautiful as ever," he declared warmly, as always. Narcissa laughed and gave him a quick, friendly hug.

"So good to see you, Albus. How are you?" she asked, smiling beautifully.

After greeting Lucius and Draco and offering a lemon drop, which was refused, he took his seat behind his desk. Lucius stayed standing as he always did. Draco sat down in the chair next to his Mother, next to the wide window that took up almost the entire wall, which had a fantastic view of the front grounds and large, almost empty parking lot.

He listened to his father complain for about ten minutes, before he drifted out of the conversation, bored. He was surprised, however, when Dumbledore offered his parent's a glass of champagne, which his mother accepted gratefully, his father scoffed at, and Dumbledore himself had none of. He knew his father was getting irritated at how their 'meeting' was going so far and Lucius must have known that it would be awhile because he took the seat next to his wife as soon as her glass was refilled.

Draco's gaze shifted toward the window as the conversation drifted from his class schedule, and he was surprised at what he saw.

Two men were laughing and hugging each other in the parking lot. A man and a teenager, actually. He figured that the teenager was a student, but what kind of teenager hugs his father like that in public? His eyes widened when the older of the two kissed the teenagers forehead. They seemed... close.

The older man had long black hair that was tied back into a low ponytail. He wore a black leather jacket, which Draco thought was very inappropriate for spring, dark blue jeans and steel-toed boots.

The teen had the same, raven black hair, except his was rather wild, longer in the front than the back. It sort of suited him, which was strange because Draco usually hated anything messy. He was wearing too baggy jeans that had chains on them, Draco was sure they were made that way because they hung from his hips perfectly, exposing just a bit of the waistline of his black boxers, and a black V-neck T-shirt that was one size too small. Draco squinted, unconsciously licking his lips and moving closer to the window. The boy had what looked like dark, thick string wrapped around his neck several times. He had a healthy tan, a strong jaw and high cheekbones. He wore a very charming smile. Draco couldn't really tell from so high up, but he looked almost as tall as his... father?

Draco had met a lot of people in his life, but he'd never seen someone so unusual, so different before. The way he looked, the way he laughed, the way he walked, something about this boy had him curious. His fingers were practically itching for the camera in his pocket.

He jumped slightly when his mother tapped his shoulder to get his attention, making Narcissa wonder what could be so fasinating about the parking lot. She looked out the window and, still in a daze, Draco did as well, and they watched as the teenager hopped up on a motorcycle Draco hadn't even noticed before, pressed the accelerator a bit, grinning, before taking off at a high speed, with no helmet, around the parking lot, making the older man laugh.

When Narcissa saw what had distracted her son so much, she brought a hand to her mouth, muffling a giggle, earning an odd look from her husband, who was arguing with an unyielding Dumbledore, and making Draco flush crimson in embaressment when he looked back at her. She couldn't help it, she had no idea her son would be attracted to that type of person. They looked like polar opposites. She couldn't deny that he was a very handsome boy, however. Though she thought he could use a comb. And a tailor.

The man that was with him, though, she was sure she knew him. She took a second look.

"Lucius, dear, that's my cousin, is it not?" she questioned, interrupting whatever he was in the middle of saying.

She heard Draco's quick intake of breath and turned. She couldn't hold back a laugh when she saw Draco's eyes widened in horror and his face go from red to white as a sheet. She knew exactly what he thought.

Lucius glared at her still laughing form, then down at the full champagne glass in her hand. "How many of those have you had?" he asked snidely, taking the glass from her and setting it down on the Headmaster's desk.

Narcissa ignored him. "Albus, who is that man outside?" she asked, gesturing toward the window. Dumbledore and Lucius stood, trying to get a better look. Everyone was looking out the window, now. Except for Draco, who was staring straight ahead, not blinking and looking paler by the second.

"Ah. Sirius Black," Dumbledore answered easily, beaming. Draco closed his eyes at hearing the last name, feeling nauseous.

"That man had a son?" Lucius scoffed, sitting back down. He never liked his wife's family.

"No, he doesn't. Plus, the last I heard, he was gay," Narcissa told him. Draco's eyes were wide open again, now thinking the two of them were a couple.

"That would be Harry Potter, Sirius's godson," Dumbledore cleared up, no longer looking at the window, but watching as Draco sighed in relief, slumping back into his chair, making his eyes twinkle behind his glasses.

Narcissa, too, noticed his reaction and turned to her husband. "Lucius, dear, why don't you and Draco make a quick visit to Severus. I need to speak with Albus about the Zabini's," she lied. Lucius agreed, wanting nothing more than to leave.

Narcissa didn't miss the quick look Draco shot at the raven haired boy outside before departing with his Father.

When the door shut behind them, Narcissa smirked at her former Headmaster. "Albus, I believe I need a favor," she said, picking up the abandoned champagne glass.

Dumbledore smiled.

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**Authors Note:** I know shit about lobbyist, boarding schools, or fashion designers. Do me a favor, people. Review and tell me if it's obvious or not. This is my first story, so go easy on me.


	2. Live To Ride

**Rating:** It's not now, but it will be M eventually.

**Warnings: **Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness. Future drug use.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the series. Nor any of the songs mentioned in this chapter.

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**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Two**

**Live To Ride**

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Statistically speaking, about one hundred fifty-five thousand people die each day worldwide. That's approximately six thousand four hundred an hour, one hundred seven a minute, and about two a second. Still, not one person in history has ever died from anticipation. Presently however, if you were to ask Harry Potter if dying of anticipation was possible, he'd tell you that he was close to becoming the very first fatality.

Of course, he figured anyone would feel that way had they been in his shoes at the moment. He'd been living in hell for most of his young life, but now that he could practically _smell_ his freedom, he was forced to sit back and watch the clock. It was like giving a hobo a bottle of Jack Daniels, but then telling him that he had to wait until five o' clock to drink it. Except Harry wasn't a hobo... or an alcoholic.

Currently, Harry's ticket to freedom was heading in his direction, driving a motorcycle well past the legal speed limit, the song _You Can't Hurry Love _by _The Supremes_ stuck in his head, and trying to come up with a semi-credible excuse for why he was three hours late for picking up his beloved godson.

Although, Harry remembered fondly, the closest his godfathers excuses had ever come to being _credible_ involved an injured turtle and "a leather glove emergency."

His name was Sirius Black.

Sirius wasn't what anyone would describe as conventional. The word 'obedience' wasn't in his vocabulary unless Remus Lupin was involved and would probably run screaming in the opposite direction when faced with conformity or something equally nonsensical.

Despite his wealthy upbringing and exceptional education, at the age of twenty-two, he had decided to make his dream of becoming an entertainer a reality and formed the rock band 'The Marauders' with his childhood friend, Peter Pettigrew as their manager. While an extremely talented singer and guitarist, Sirius couldn't write lyrics to save his life. Well, he could, but they would suck. He also put his faith into people that really didn't deserve it and it's common knowledge that the music industry isn't exactly known for its honesty. Band members would keep leaving or have to be replaced. It seemed that for every one step forward he had to take two steps back.

In the past, Sirius wasn't the most dependable person. Aside from his music and being a part-time mechanic for a while when he was younger, he's never really had a steady job and, aside from the Grimmauld Place, he's never lived in one place for longer than a year and a half, either. He's an expert when it comes to driving motorcycles and tour buses, but let him drive a car and there wouldn't be a mailbox, trashcan or squirrel left standing.

Regardless, Harry's parents had considered Sirius the best candidate for legal guardian should they pass. And given the chance, Harry knew that he would've been, too. Unfortunately, around the time of the accident that took James and Lily Potter's lives, just when his music career was getting off the ground, Sirius had been incarcerated under false charges of trafficking and the possession of methamphetamine. Harry knew that even though he'd been told most of his life that his godfather was a criminal, a drug dealer, and a junkie, that Sirius wasn't any of those things. He might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but Sirius wasn't stupid, especially when it came to something so important.

By the time he had gotten out, Harry had already been living with the Dursleys for almost two years. He didn't have a job or a place to live. Well, he had the Grimmauld Place, which he had inherited, but it had been deemed 'substandard living conditions' long ago. His dream of becoming a big-time musician was put on the back-burner. It went without saying that he was in no position to take care of a seven year old. Even if he did, Harry doubted that the Dursleys were very fond of the idea of giving away their new slave-in-training.

The Dursleys really were the worst type of people. Among other things, they were unreasonable, prejudice, gluttonous, selfish and rude. Harry would never understand how his aunt Petunia, his mothers sister, had turned out to be such an avaricious person. When Harry had questioned his godfather, the only answer he had was that she had always been terribly jealous of his mother. Harry had no problem believing that, what with the way Petunia went on about her 'perfect sister' and insulting his parents, calling them drunks. His Uncle was even worse, though, and that's saying a lot. He was an angry, stubborn, cholesterol infested tub of lard. All that needs to be said about his cousin Dudley was that he took after his parents.

The only reason Sirius was even allowed to visit Harry was that the Dursleys were too afraid of what he might do it they didn't allow it. Actually, they were just scared of the guy period. Why? Because they believed their own lies.

For most of Harry's childhood, Sirius had been somewhat ignorant to his godsons miserable home-life. He knew that it was bad, but he didn't know how bad. When he had finally discovered the truth, Harry downplayed his situation in order to stay. Harry had always been a selfless person and never wanted to burden Sirius with his problems. However, as they both knew, his selflessness was not his main reason for wanting to stay.

At the moment, Harry was laying back on his bed, feet on the floor, staring up at the well-read letter in his right hand, his left playing with the string around his neck, not really reading it, just skimming through the words for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. He could probably recite it by heart by now.

_'Congratulations, I'm very pleased to inform you that you have been _

_accepted into Hogwarts Academy with a recommendation from _

_Professor Remus J. Lupin and myself.'_

It was long, detailed and seemed personal, somehow. The first time he had read the letter, he was confused. Understandable, since he wasn't exactly on the honor roll. He thought that Remus must've pulled some big strings.

He had heard of the school before. 'Hogwarts' wasn't a name easily forgotten. Remus and Sirius were practically raised there. He had seen pictures of his parents, Sirius, Remus, and even Peddigrew at the school, all wearing their uniforms. Sirius loved telling him stories about his parents from back in the day and, of course, Harry loved hearing them. Most resently, he remembered Remus telling him, though not very excitedly, that he had gotten a job there teaching English literature.

_'Also, because of special circumstances, should you be attending, _

_forty percent of most expenses will be covered until graduation.'_

He knew, of course, that 'special circumstances' actually meant his parents death. Still, he didn't understand. Wisely, only Sirius had been given access to his parents savings and, though Sirius himself had never used any of it, he had always given Harry whatever he needed and more. Almost none of it came from his parents savings, but still, he shouldn't be getting any sholarship or whatever it was. He had thought that only colleges gave scholarships. Granted, it was only forty percent and he only had one year left, but that shouldn't even matter to them, should it? And unless this was the most generous school in existence, he knew someone must've made a mistake. But who was he to correct them?

_'I will be keeping in contact with you and your guardian, Sirius Black,_

_regarding your decision.'_

Again, he didn't understand. The Dursleys were technically his legal guardians, shouldn't the school want to speak with them, not Sirius? The letter wasn't even sent to the Dursleys originally. It was sent to Sirius and then Sirius had sent it to him, along with a quick congratulation note from himself. He couldn't say that he wasn't happy about it, though. He would've never received it if it had been sent to the Dursleys. Knowing them, which he unfortunately did, they would've thrown it into the trash without a second thought.

_'I look forward to meeting the son of two of my most esteemed former _

_students._

_Headmaster of Hogwarts Academy,_

_Albus Dumbledore'_

It was hand-written. That fact in itself was confusing, but this person had known his parents and that was important. All of his life, the only people he ever met that knew his parents were Sirius and Remus. The Dursleys, too, of course, but they didn't even like them, so they didn't really count. Also, Peter Peddigrew had known them. Harry had only met him once, a year ago. He didn't like him, didn't trust him, but he knew that the man used to be a friend of his fathers and that made him want to.

At first, he wasn't sure he wanted to go to Hogwarts. Even if there wasn't anything left worth staying for, he still had alot of memories in this place. Many of them were bad, but he wasn't sure that he wanted to let go of the good ones yet. Even if thinking of them made him sad. He spent days arguing with himself.

In the end, he decided, if only for his parents, that he should go. Sirius was ecstatic.

At the moment, he was wearing a pensive expression, brows furrowed. His foot was tapping compulsively on the floor to the beat of _Skeptics and True Believers_ by _The Academy Is..._ blaring through his headphones. He had his overstuffed backpack open at his side and the big, over-expensive, studded leather saddlebags that Sirius had sent him were waiting by the door. There was no way in hell that all of his things would fit on his godfathers bike, and knowing Sirius, he would've tried. Luckily, he had had the forethought to send his two trunks to Remus. Costly, yes, but worth it.

Smiling slightly to himself at the image of Sirius trying to figure out how to fit everything on his bike, he turned off the music and stuffed it into his backpack, zipping it up. He looked around the near-empty room, searching for anything he managed to miss while packing. Every time he looked, he found something. Like now, there were some dirty clothes in the corner.

"Boy!" his Uncle's more-angry-than-usual voice shouted from downstairs, making him jump and almost drop the clothes he'd picked up off the floor. He sighed, sometimes he wondered if the man even knew his name.

Stuffing the clothes into one of the bags, unfolded and dirty, he glanced out the window distractedly. What he saw made him gasp. There, and half-way in the middle of the street no less, was his godfathers precious motorcycle. He took off downstairs, taking two steps at a time, wondering how he didn't hear his godfathers bike pull up.

Oh, headphones. Right.

Entering the living room he saw the Dursleys all looking in distaste in the direction of the front door. Vernon's arms were crossed over his man-boobs and was tapping his foot impatiently. Petunia was beside her husband, her horse-face twisted up as if she smelled something disgusting. Their precious son was on the sofa, practically inhaling a bag of potato chips, exactly where he was five hours ago.

At the door stood Sirius, head tilted, looking at the Dursley family with a befuddled expression, wondering at how they keep getting bigger. Upon seeing his godson enter the room, however, his face brightened into an excited smile, showing all of his teeth.

This was the first time Sirius had seen him in almost a year. Before that, he had been visiting every four months or so. He wasn't used to sending that much time away from him. He hoped they'd get to spend more time together now. With Harry at Hogawrts, he'll be a lot closer to where he was recording.

Sirius had been working at dead-end jobs since he had gotten out of prison, all of which never lasted more than a year, but two years ago, he had decided to try to get his old band back together. It took a lot of time and money that he didn't have to make it work. He had to get all new members, track down his old manager, and basically do everything all over again. It cost a pretty penny, but he even hired a songwriter this time around. Fortunately, lady luck seemed to be on his side for once and they looked like they would finally make it.

"Harry, my boy!" he declared theatrically, holding his arms out in front of him as if expecting a hug, which he was, and calling everyone's attention to the boy.

"You're late," Harry informed, his actions contradicting his tone as he pulled the older man into a tight hug.

Sirius winced, pulling away slightly and avoiding the glare aimed in his direction. "I am? I thought I said ..." he trailed off, eyes darting all over the room for a clock and not finding one. "Noon?" he guessed, looking down at Harry with the most innocent expression.

Harry snorted, not convinced, but not really mad either. "Uh-huh. You haven't changed one bit," he noted, an amused grin fighting it's way onto his face.

It was true. Sirius hadn't changed at all. He had the same long, jet-black hair, tied back into a ponytail with his bangs constantly falling into his beautiful, bright gray eyes. The guy still didn't look a day over thirty. Same leather jacket and jeans. Same attractive features. Same excuses.

"Well, you have. Look at you! You're about as tall as me now," he said, holding Harry at arms length and trying to change the subject. Then he put on a serious face. "What happened, d'you get bit by a radio-active spider?" he whispered suspiciously, poking Harry in the chest with an index finger.

This was also true. The difference in appearance, not the radio-active spider part. Harry had had a growth spurt since the last time Sirius had seen him. He'd grown several inches and had built in muscle. He was still slim, but a lot bigger than he was, broader, more developed. He even got a haircut, so it was longer in front now, maybe even a little spiky. Still had a mind of its own, though, making him look like he'd just... did something that Sirius didn't feel comforfable even _thinking _about his godson doing. He got rid of those hideous glasses, too, he noticed, which made his immposibly green eyes stand out even more. They looked different, though. There was... a haunted look to them that wasn't there before.

He was still the same old Harry, though. He was still wearing that same string-necklace... thing around his neck that Sirius had seen him wearing the year before. He still had the somewhat baggy, chained jeans, converses and the same kind of tighter, V-neck T-shirt that he was prone to wearing, proving that he still had little to no fashion sense at all. Yep, same old Harry.

"Anything else?" Harry asked, rolling his eyes at the lame joke, but smiling nonetheless.

"Yes, are you finished? Some people have things they need to do today," Vernon said, eyes narrowed, trying to get them out as soon as possible.

"God forbid any of the neighbors seeing that death-trap parked in our driveway," Petunia added rudely.

Sirius ignored them. "Hmm," he considered, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Nope, I'm done. Where's your bags?" he asked, looking around as if expecting them to appear from thin air and rubbing his hands together.

"Still upstairs. I'll be right back," Harry said, rushing upstairs and leaving Sirius alone with the Dursleys.

As they stood in the uncomfortable silence, Sirius wondered if they thought he was going to steal anything, what with the way they were all staring at him. Not that there was anything _worth_ stealing.

"So, you're just here to... What? Drive him to school? Couldn't he have taken the bus or something?" Dudley asked. It would've been considered an unadulterated question had he not looked like he was speaking to a cockroach.

Sirius raised a brow, wondering if he should answer the boy, but he figured it couldn't hurt. "Well, a friend of mine is teaching there, so I'll be staying for a while. Plus, I haven't seen him... since..." he trailed off, clearing his throat and looking distinctly uncomfortable.

Dudley laughed obnoxiously, causing Sirius to glare at him. "Since that faggy friend of his went and-"

"Shut your mouth, Dudley," Harry interrupted, a little too calmly. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs, shoulders rigid, hands clenching the bags in his hands, glaring green eyes darkening and locked onto the beady ones of his cousin.

"Harry." Sirius approached him, trying to calm him down. He heard Vernon yelling something somewhere to his right, but he had long ago learned to block out any sound that came from that man.

Dudley just couldn't leave it at that, though. "What! It's the truth! It's not like it's _my _fault Cedric sho-"

"Shut your fucking mouth, Dudley!" Harry growled, his face an angry red, lunging at his cousin and dropping everything but his backpack in the process.

Sirius stopped him before he could land a blow, struggling to hold him back. Given the argument, he could understand why Harry was this angry, but he wasn't sure what to do exactly. He was sure that as long as they were there the situation wouldn't get any better. Whatever Vernon and Petunia were yelling in the background went ignored.

"Calm down, Harry. Let's just go. C'mon," he said softly, trying to hold him close. When Harry stopped pulling at his jacket, trying to push him away, he picked up the saddlebags Harry had dropped, making sure to keep one hand on the boys shoulder, then led him to the door.

When they were outside, Harry leaned on the wall behind him, trying to regulate his breathing, sliding down slowly, backpack scraping against the rough wall, until he was in a crouching position, elbows on his knees, running his hands through and pulling at his hair, then letting them rest on his eyes, irritating his contacts.

It went without saying that Harry was pissed. He couldn't believe his cousin had the balls to say what he did. To say Cedric's name even! As much as he tried to avoid the subject, avoided thinking about it even, and as much as he succeeded in doing so, Dudley just had to say something _today_ of all days. He didn't want to think about it and he definitely didn't want to remember what happened. He was brought out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. Following the arm with his eyes brought him to his godfathers face, who was on his knee's, watching him worriedly.

"I'm okay," Harry assured him, his voice tired, rough.

"He didn't know what he was talking about," Sirius said softly, pulling him in for a hug. It was a lie, technically, since Dudley and everyone else knew about what happened, but Dudley wasn't there and he had no right to say something like that. Especially to Harry of all people.

"I know," Harry nodded, which was difficult, since his chin was on Sirius's shoulder, watching a car swerve to avoid hitting Sirius' bike on its way down the street.

"I shouldn't have left you last year," Sirius said suddenly.

"You know that you couldn't stay here... and I couldn't exactly go on tour with you," Harry said, starting to get uncomfortable. He really didn't like where this conversation was going.

"I know, but we could've worked _something _out. What was I thinking? I should've known that you weren't as okay as you pretended to be. He was your best friend, of course you weren't okay-" His rant was interrupted when Harry stood up abruptly.

"That happened a long time ago, Sirius! I got over it. Today's just a little stressful, okay?" Harry told him, eyes hard, begging his godfather to drop it. He could not talk about Cedric now. Not today. Sirius seemed to understand this because after a while, he nodded, grabbing the bags and standing up.

They were halfway to the motorcycle when Sirius remembered something and jumped. "Oh! Harry, I almost forgot. I got you a belated birthday present!" he beamed, looking extremely proud of himself, previously sullen mood completely forgotten.

Harry chuckled softly, marveling at how fast his godfather could change moods and taking the bags from him, securing them on the bike.

"Sirius, you already sent me a birthday present," he reminded him.

"Yeah, I know, but then I got something _a lot_ better. I left it at the school," he answered, grinning ear to ear as he put on his helmet, throwing the other to Harry.

He caught it easily and followed his godfathers example, putting his on as well. "Is that where you're staying?" he asked, curious.

"Nope. Remy has an apartment really close to the Academy, so I'm staying there," he answered, throwing the keys to Harry out of habit.

Sirius started teaching Harry how to drive a motorcycle when he was fifteen years old. The kid was a natural. Sirius taught him everything he knew and they'd practice every time he came to visit. He was the one who took him to get his license, too. He passed with flying colors.

Harry smirked, mounting his godfathers Harley. It was no surprise that Sirius was staying with Remus. Those two were made for eachother. They seemed to have a hard time understanding that though.

The ride to Hogwarts cheered Harry up a great deal. They had to stop several times, but by the time they pulled into the enormous parking lot of their destination, he felt better than he had in a long time. He was confused though, when Sirius had him park near the entrance gate instead of closer to the school. Taking off his helmet, Harry got his first look at Hogwarts Academy and understood why they'd parked where they had.

"Whoa," he breathed. The view was incredible. Hogwarts was a lot bigger than he had anticipated and it was starting to make him feel a little anxious. It had grey brick walls, fancy windows and manicured lawns. Simply put, it was beautiful. He noticed a very expensive-looking limousine parked in front. It was obvious to him now, that this school was for wealthy children. He wasn't too sure he would fit in with them. He felt an arm wrap itself around his shoulders.

"Amazing, isn't it? Welcome to Hogwarts, Harry," Sirius said, sounding proud. When Harry told him that he wanted to go, he was so happy. This school was home to him for years when he was young and he knew exactly how Harry was feeling right now. He was sure that he would come to love it, though, just as he had.

"How about we go see your present now, then go see old Dumblebee?" he suggested, receiving a nod from Harry.

Sirius led him across the parking lot, which was slowly filling with cars, and came to a stop in front of the entrance building, where Sirius went up behind him and covered his eyes with his hands, which confused Harry. Why would his gift be outside? He led him in another direction not very far away before he removed his hands.

"Surprise!" Sirius shouted, beaming in excitement.

Directly in front of them was a Harley-Davidson motorcycle. For a moment Harry thought it was his godfathers, until he remembered where they had parked. Then Harry's eyes went wide.

It was a Sportster, definitely. The transmission was linked to the engine with a triple-row chain primary drive and it had a fourty-five degree V-twin engine. It was the perfect beginners bike. He wasn't sure what model exactly but that didn't seem to matter much at the moment. It was a stunning chrome and green color. Surely Sirius didn't actually buy this for him.

"Y-You didn't..." he stuttered, pointing a finger at the bike, still in shock. Sirius laughed and clapped him on the back.

"Yep! I did. And look, I even got you the-" he started, only to be interrupted when Harry pounced on him.

"Holy shit! Thank you, Sirius! Oh, you're the best!" he practically squealed, bouncing in joy, arms tight around his godfathers neck.

Sirius laughed again, wrapping his arms around the boy. "You deserve it, kiddo," he told him, planting a kiss on his scarred forehead.

"I missed you, Sirius," he told him, smiling blissfully, head on his shoulder, thinking that he should know.

"So did I, Harry," he said honestly, smiling lovingly and ruffling Harry's hair. Then he pulled him back to get the keys out of his pants pocket and dangled them in front of Harry's smiling face. "Now. Go give it a test drive!" he ordered, still smiling.

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He snatched the keys from his godfathers hand, ran over to the bike and hopped on. He knew Sirius must've spent a lot of time choosing it because it fit perfectly. Everything was exact. The handlebars were the perfect width, which would give it more leverage. The foot pegs were wide and had rubber insets. Every last detail was perfect. Starting up, he reveled in the characteristic Harley-Davidson sound of _his _new bike, the pistons firing before and after the three sixty revolution of the crank-shift, giving it that unique 'pop-pop' sound. It was loud, maybe even louder than his godfathers Harley, which he thought was awesome. He circled around the parking lot a few times, recklessly forgetting to put on his helmet, before coming to a stop in front of Sirius, who suggested they go see the Headmaster before it got too late.

Walking through the lobby of the entrance building, Harry noticed several families, obviously saying their goodbyes. Many parents were hugging their children, looking both sad and happy at the same time. Harry's gaze dropped down to his feet, feeling as if he was intruding watching them. Sirius must've noticed the sorrowful expression on his face because wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer. He knew that, a lot like himself, Harry was a physical kind of person that needed contact. Harry appreciated the gesture and gave him a thankful, still somewhat sad smile, putting his arm around his waist, reminding himself that even though he didn't have parents, he still had Sirius. They stayed like that until they got to an older lady, who was flipping pages on a clipboard. Sirius beamed.

"Minerva! How is my favorite former professor?" Sirius asked with a gesture.

She gave him no more than a glance before saying, "That's Mrs McGonnagal to you, Black," and continued flipping pages.

Sirius nodded as if he was understanding something. "Still pining for me, I see. Ow!" he joked, earning him a whack in the head with the clipboard, making Harry snicker.

"There isn't any 'Black' on the roster," she said, giving Sirius a reprimanding glare.

"I'm sorry, I seemed to have developed a concussion, would you mind repeating that?" he asked flippantly, kneading his wounded head.

"It's Harry Potter, ma'am," Harry interjected with a charming smile, trying not to laugh.

Minerva took a second look at him, eyes wider than before, recognition flickering across her face. "Potter...? Well, it's nice to meet you. I'm Mrs McGonnagal," she said, giving him a kind smile.

"I get physically assalted and he gets a 'nice to meet you'. How tipical." Sirius complained childishly, arms crossed over his chest.

After checking off the name 'Potter', she asked if they needed to see Dumbledore, to which they nodded and she directed them up the winding staircase behind her. When they got to the Headmaster's office, Sirius went inside without knocking. When he was in school, after he was busted pulling some prank or another, he'd get sent to Dumbledores office, flop down in the chair across from him and receive a punishment that he never learned from. Old habits die hard.

Harry closed the door behind them and followed his godfather into the room. The first thing he noticed was an old man, who was obviously the Headmaster, standing in front of a huge mahogany desk as if he had been waiting for them, which made him wonder if Hogwarts had security cameras or if the man was psychic. Neither of which would be very surprising. The next thing he noticed was the rest of the office. He saw a very large window next to the desk and he was sure he would be able to see his new bike if he looked out of it. Maybe that was how the man had known they were coming? The rest of the room was filled with shelves, books, maps, globes and some strange, antique objects. He had no idea what half the stuff in there even was.

"Hey, Albus! Great to see you," Sirius greeted, smiling and giving the man a pat on the back. Dumbledore gave him a soft smile.

"Hello, Sirius. And you must be Harry Potter," he said pleasantly, seeing Harry and shaking his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Headmaster," Harry smiled. They all took a seat and got comfortable.

"Lemondrop?" Dumbledore offered, holding out the bowl of candy and taking one for himself. He was technically speaking to Harry, but both of them took a piece.

"Thank you, sir," they said in unison, popping the candy into their mouth.

They talked for a while about Hogwarts. The school rules, holidays, sports, charities, the dress code, clubs, subjects, textbooks, benefits, class schedules and pretty much anything else they could think of. Remus had already gotten all of Harry's books and Sirius had made sure to buy several uniforms in his size, so there wasn't much that hadn't already been handled for him. Harry had decided to live in a dorm room instead of a private room, not wanting Sirius to spend more money than he already was. Everything but the bags they were still carrying were already in Harry's new room and Sirius had already given him his key.

"Unless you have anymore questions, you should probably be getting settled in before the opening feast, don't you think?" the Headmaster suggested when they ran out of topics.

"I was actually thinking of maybe showing Harry around the Academy first," Sirius replied, standing along with Harry.

"That's sound like a wonderful idea. Would you be staying, then?" he questioned, seeing them to the door.

"Probably just until after the feast, then me and Remus are gonna go back to his place," he said. Then he noticed the knowing smile and smirk he was getting from Dumbledore and Harry. "What?"

"Well, Harry. It was certainly a pleasure to meet you. I hope you do well at Hogwarts," he said, giving the boy a pat on the back and opening the door for them.

"Of course he will, Albus. When I'm done with him, he'll know everything there is to know about this place!" he announced proudly.

Albus brought a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat. "Well, then... I guess we'll just have to hope that he takes after his parents," he said jokingly. Harry laughed at the incredulous look on his godfathers face.

After leaving Dumbledores office, Sirius gave Harry a tour of the school. Showing him every hallway, office, classroom and bathroom there. Everything except for the private building, which he avoided. They even stopped by the kitchen to get a quick snack. He showed him every shortcut he could remember and by the time they had finished, teachers were showing the first years around and parents and students were everywhere. They received some strange looks from a lot of people and Harry wasn't sure why at first until he noticed how different they looked from everyone else. These people looked like they had just gotten out from church or something. Harry had never seen so much beige before in his life and he was sure that they were the only people in the entire school wearing jeans.

Once Sirius noticed the odd looks coming their way, he started keeping an eye on Harry and was worried when he started to seem uncomfortable. Sirius was used to the attention, but he thought it might make Harry feel a bit alienated. He wanted Harry to feel like he fit in here and that wasn't going to happen if people kept staring at him like he was a circus sideshow. He hated what an injustice it was because Harry was a wonderful person that didn't deserve to be judged by people who looked like they just stepped out of The Stepford Wives.

Harry tried to ignore them at first and pretend that he didn't care, but then he decided that he didn't want them to think of him as just some rebeling teenager looking for attention or somebody that parents should warn their kids to stay away from. That in mind, he just gave a smile to anyone who stared.

Sirius was ready to glare at anyone else who wanted to look at them wrong, but then he saw Harry smiling. He was a little less surprised than Harry was when most of the smiles were returned, some hesitant, some bashful. The kid really didn't know how powerful that smile of his was. It had all the girls giggling and whispering to their friends in no time. Not that Harry noticed of course, being the type that wasn't interested in someone just because they were interested in him, but Sirius did. And he could've sworn that there was a boy, who after being on the receiving end of one of Harry's smiles, walked straight into someone he was so distracted.

To say Sirius was proud would be an understatement, he was absolutely thrilled that Harry was taking the attention so positively. He had a question that he was planning to ask him after graduation and seeing how he had just dealt with that situation, Sirius knew the answer would be yes. And he was sure now, that Harry would have no problem fitting in here.

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**Authors Note:** The plot is going to get a lot thicker, just to let you know. And I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed. Since this is my first story, it means a lot to have that support. That being said, leave a review, people! I would love to know what you think so far.


	3. Clumsy

**Rating: **It's not now, but it will be M eventually.

**Warnings: **Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness. Future drug use.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the series. Nor any of the songs mentioned in this chapter.

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**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Three**

**Clumsy**

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After his mother had met up with him and his father in the chemistry classroom (where Severus Snape could be found more often than not), they said their goodbyes and left Draco to his last year at Hogwarts Academy. His mother leaving him with the key to his room and a kiss on the cheek that would've been very embarrassing had anyone else been around to see it. His father leaving him with an 'I trust you know the way to your room' as he did every year. However, when he tried to open the door to said room, he found his key didn't work. All of the rooms at Hogwarts, even the dorm rooms, needed a key to get into. He figured that either his mother had given him the wrong key or the locks had been changed. Both of which were highly improbable.

He was heading to the Headmasters office for an explanation when he bumped into professor McGonnagal, who told him that Dumbledore was busy at the moment. Thinking that she might be able to help him, he had told her about his problem.

"...I've been what now?"

"I said 'you've been moved, Mr Malfoy'," she repeated with seemingly endless patience.

Draco blinked. "Do you know why?" he asked slowly, completely confounded.

"You don't? Headmaster Dumbledore said that your mother requested it," she explained, wondering why he didn't already know this.

Draco took a moment to process this, lips pursed. "My mother... Okay. Where my new room then?" he asked. Maybe his mother got him a better one. That wouldn't be _too_ strange.

"Room number sixty-six, bed six, I believe he said," she told him.

Draco quirked an amused eyebrow. "Six, six, six, huh?" he mused, his confused look disappearing for a moment before coming back three fold. "...Wait, what do you mean 'bed six'?" he asked. Private rooms only have one bed, after all.

"Well, you've been switched to the dorm rooms," she said, confused herself. She made a mental note to have a talk with Dumbledore about this later. Why would Mrs Malfoy put her son in the dorm rooms, but not tell him about it? Why would she put him in the dorm rooms at all, for that matter?

Draco went absolutely still and stared at her for a moment, wondering if he was hearing things. "Perhaps I heard you wrong, Professor. Did you just say that I've been moved to the _dorms_?" he asked, waiting for her to correct herself and almost sure that she would.

McGonnagal sighed when she saw another family come in and grabbed her clipboard off the desk beside her, ready to assist them. "Yes, Mr Malfoy, you heard correctly. Now if you don't mind-"

Draco's patience snapped. "Of course I mind! There must have been a mistake. There is no_ way_ I can stay in the dorms. I _demand _another room!" he interrupted, outraged and much louder than necessary, attracting the entire lobby's attention. His eyes had gone wide and he might have stomped his foot on that last sentence. Mrs McGonnagal glared at him.

"Mind your tone, Mr Malfoy! Everything has been done. Your old room has already been given to somebody else," she said sternly, patience wearing thin and not in the mood to deal with a demanding Malfoy, or any Malfoy, really. Yes, she would definitely be having a _long _talk with Albus soon.

"That's insane! My mother would never have done that! You just wait until my father hears about this!" he huffed.

"Feel free to call him, then," she told him, motioning impatiently toward the telephone on the desk beside her and walking away from the spectacle the blond boy was making.

Rage swelled inside Draco's chest at the action, but he pushed it back and quickly did as suggested, grimacing slightly at the ugly, yellow lobby phone. The thing must've had thousands of germs on it, he was sure. He mentally cursed the fact that students weren't allowed cellphones at the Academy. He knew better than to call his fathers 'emergency work number', so he dialed his mothers instead, wiping his hand off on his pants afterwards and holding the phone as close to his ear as possible without it actually having to touch his skin. It rang several times before she answered.

"_Narcissa Malfoy_," she answered pleasantly.

"Mother, what on _earth_ do you think you're doing?" he asked shakily, facing the wall to try to retain whatever privacy he could and trying his best to keep calm.

"_Oh, hello to you, too_," she said casually.

Draco immediately noticed the lack of an endearment. Which meant that she was still in the presence of his father and that she didn't want him to know who she was speaking to. It was also meant as sarcasm for forgetting his manners and not saying hello. He rolled his eyes impatiently and waited for her to continue, knowing that she would.

"_Yes, I thought it was for the best_," she continued flippantly. She was actually a very good actress.

"'For the best'?" he scoffed, running a hand through his hair to fix it back behind his ear, only for it to fall back again. "I refuse to live in the dorm rooms like some filthy peasant!" he hissed, making sure to keep his voice down in case his father was listening.

Narcissa laughed airily. "_Well, I wouldn't say that. Plus, I think it could be very beneficial. Definitely the right thing to do_," she said calmly.

Draco sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Oh, God. Am I being punished for something?" he moaned pitifully, mostly to himself.

"_Not at all. Be sure to take advantage of the opportunity though_," she answered. It was actually kind of sad that this wasn't the weirdest telephone conversation Draco remembered having with his mother.

"Fix this, Mother, please!" he pleaded. Everyone in the dorm building hated him. It would be a living hell if he had to live there!

"_Well, of course, if it doesn't work out_," she told him.

A miserable whimper escaped Draco's mouth. "What does that even _mean_? How long do I have to stay there?" he asked in a whining tone, brows furrowed.

"_Hn. Yes, I'll get back to you in a couple of months_," she said.

That was when Draco remembered the conversation they had had that morning, and only now did he realize what she had been doing. She had planned this entire thing! He wouldn't be surprised if _everything _she had said about the Zabini's was a lie. She could've made all that up just to get his opinion about the dorm rooms. Draco felt so betrayed in that moment that he forgot to answer her, responding only when he heard her clear her throat, discretely getting his attention. That was when Draco exploded.

"Two months?! I can't stay there for two whole months! Are you mad?!" he yelled into the phone, clutching it so tightly he was surprised that it didn't break.

"_You're very welcome. Goodbye_."

Draco stayed on the phone long after she hung up and it went back to a dial tone. He could not believe what was happening. He refused to. All that was on his mind at the moment was that he needed a cigarette. Badly. Hanging up he phone, he noticed that the lobby had gone very quiet. When he looked up, everyone that was previously staring at him went back to what they'd been doing before as if they hadn't just been eavesdropping on a private conversation.

"Everything has been sorted out, I presume?" professor McGonnagal asked him, looking at him from above the rim of her glasses.

Draco glared at her, angry that she wasn't even acting the least bit smug, which was ridiculous, he knew, but he really didn't care and didn't bother to answer her either as he took off through the dorm entrance. Like the private building, it could only be entered from the entrance buildings lobby. Walking down the dorm buildings main hallway, he realized that he had never actually been inside before, so he was surprised when he found it to look almost exactly like the private buildings main hallway. Pushing that information aside, he started to search for room number sixty-six.

Almost every student in the hallway narrowed their eyes at him, probably wondering why he was there and what he was up to. He didn't dare show it, but he had to admit he felt very much out of place, almost vulnerable without Crabbe and Goyle flanking his sides. They weren't his friends, god no, but they weren't unlike bodyguards.

On the very first day of his first year at Hogwarts, Crabbe and Goyle just showed up at his sides and stayed there as if it was their jobs. Draco suspected his father had something to do with that, even from the begining. Lucius never thought Draco would be capable of defending himself, what with him being a bit slight. He was an early bloomer, as some would call it, and it made him taller than most boys his age until everyone else hit puberty, but he was still slim, lacking in build, and his father apparently thought it was a good idea to have a couple of brutes around at all times to protect him. Some people might see that as an insult, or at the very least an embaressment, but over time, Draco had actually come to appreciate it, even now. He saw it as evidence that his father really did care for his well-being, even if he hardly ever showed it. Plus, he considered himself far too civilized for physical violence, preferring to fight with words rather than fists, mostly because he bruised way too easily.

Crabbe and Goyle were in the same year as him, which would've confused him if he didn't already know that his father had bribed their way through school for his benefit. Which was very lucky for them, seeing as they were just this side of being mentally retarded. When they weren't with him, they were usually in the kitchens or the great hall, stuffing their faces. The only use they really had was their brawn, which was actually _very _useful. With as many enemies as Draco had made over the years, he needed them, and being without them now made him feel like hugging himself, which in turn made him feel weak, insecure, and incredibly pathedic.

He hated being in this situation, hated being in a hallway full of people that hated _him_, but he figured he could deal with everything later and in private. Until then, everything could be suppressed. At the moment though, he needed to check to make sure if all of his things were where they were supposed to be. Well, not where they were _supposed_ to be because if they were, they'd be in the private buildings, which they weren't.

Draco found the room at the very end of the main hallway, next to the stairs that went up to the girls dorms. You would think that mostly heterosexual teenage boys living right downstairs from mostly heterosexual teenage girls would be a problem, but it wasn't. The reason was that right across from dorm room number sixty-six was professor McGonnagal's room, making her the only teacher who didn't stay in the private building.

Every night at curfew, she and her ever-present clipboard had the privilege of checking to make sure every last student in the dorm building were safe and sound in their own rooms. Usually, with hormone-driven teenagers, that wouldn't be anywhere near enough, but there was one person that completely wiped that problem out of existence. Argus Flich; the completely nocturnal creature who roamed the halls every night, searching for any student that was out of bed. More often than not, if a student sneaks out, they get caught. Which was why only the stupid or extremely talented ones do so.

Breaking out of his thoughts, he was relieved when he found the door to be locked, which probably meant that nobody was in there yet. After unlocking the door and stepping inside, he took a minute to survey what would be his new room. It was way bigger than he thought it would be, but then, it had to be to fit six four poster beds, chest of drawers, desks, side tables, a quaint little sitting area and space for whatever luggage the students may bring. He would never admit it, but it was a lot better than he expected, cozy.

Draco was surprised to see a communal bathroom and shower adjoining the dorm room. He had thought that he would have to go out into the dorm buildings main hallway every time he had to use the bathroom or take a shower. He had been dreading it, actually, so that was a relief. He wasn't looking forward to sharing with five other people, though. Disgusting.

Still, Hogwarts Academy was being very generous indeed, considering the average tuition for a college prep-school was around forty thousand dollars, not including the 'special students' that were helped out by the school. Many schools didn't do that, but with Dumbledore being the Headmaster, he tried to give a 'fair shot' to anyone who he thought deserved it. Draco had recently heard his father talking about using his connections to force Dumbledore into retirement, so that all might be changing soon. Draco wasn't sure how to feel about it.

To his satisfaction, bed number six was closest to the door, so if he was ever forced to make a quick exit, then it would be a _quick_ exit. He found his things at the end of it and quickly went to work putting them away, making sure to kept his camera in a safe place, his most prized possession and a gift from his mother. He was so concentrated on getting it done and over with that he was startled when he heard a voice coming from outside the door.

"Are you sure you don't need any help, dear?" a voice asked from a distance. It was definitely a mothers voice, Draco decided as he kicked his half-empty suitcase under his bed. He leaned on his bed frame, hands in his pants pockets, waiting to see who this person was and distantly reminding himself to change clothes before he went anywhere else.

"I've been doing this for years now, Mom, I can handle it," a somewhat familiar-sounding voice answered. Draco snorted when the person didn't even have the sense to check if the door was already unlocked first before trying to use his key, subsequently locking himself out. After a second try, the door was pushed open halfway.

"Alright, then. Don't forget to write, okay, Son?" an older, deeper voice asked. That one had to belong to this persons father. Even though he was sure he wouldn't be getting to know any of his temporary roommates, Draco was curious to find out who they were.

"Yeah, yeah. See you on Thanksgiving!" he told his parents, giving them a little wave and opening the door all the way.

Draco's eyes went wide with the sight of his new roommate and he mentally cursed. Red hair, freckles and hand-me-down clothes. It was the one person who hated Draco more than anyone else.

Ronald Weasley.

Now, you would think that being the son of the former Governor of that very city would make him pretty wealthy, but that wasn't so in his case. Weasley senior believed in helping the community and did not spoil his children at all. He believed in teaching his children the value of a dollar. He gave all he could to charities and did all he could to help Merlin City. His children's education was the one thing where he spared no expense, though. All of his many children had been to Hogwarts.

Ron and Draco hated each other for a reason. Draco's father had made a deal with a large tourist agency, trying to put Merlin City on the map and make it a tourist destination. Even though it would bring in a lot of money, Governor Weasley refused. He believed that it would ruin Merlin's cultural heritage. He did the right thing, of course, considering the circumstances, but Lucius was furious. Ever since then, whenever the name Weasley came up in conversation, he would tell anyone who was listening exactly what he thought of the family. That included Draco. He took every little thing out of proportion and, being who he was, everyone believed him. Mr Weasley was never reinstated as Governor as he should've been.

"Malfoy? What on earth are you doing in here, Ferret-face?" he asked, glaring. It was as if Draco's mere presence was taken as a personal insult to him.

"Is that any way to greet your new dorm-mate, Weasel?" he asked casually, buffing his nails on his vest and not making eye-contact. He figured it was about time to have that smoke now. No way was he sticking around for the inevitable fight. He'd unpack the rest of his things later.

"Dorm-mate? What are you playing at, Malfoy?" he demanded suspiciously. He watched as Draco went to his chest of drawers, looking for his cigarettes and a lighter so that he could leave.

"Are you deaf? I just told you. If you don't want to believe me, then that's your problem, isn't it?" His back was turned to the redhead, putting the opened pack of cigarettes into his pants pocket and still trying to find his lighter. He figured he could change clothes after he got back. He planned on skipping the opening feast, not wanting to see his so-called 'friends' at the moment. He hoped that nobody would be there when he got back, but he knew that that probably wasn't going to happen.

"What the hell are you doing in the dorm, Malfoy?" he asked, quite rudely in Draco's opinion. Then he let out a mock-gasp, covering his mouth with a big hand and saying, "Don't tell me Daddy can't afford a private room anymore!"

Draco wasn't in the mood to properly put him back in his place. He couldn't find his lighter anywhere and he was getting pretty frustrated.

"Well, I see yours still can't," Draco snarled, then continued before Ron could speak. "Don't worry, this mistake has nothing to do with money. It's only temporary. With any luck, I'll be out of here in no time," he said, cursing silently when he remembered that the lighter was in his pocket and slamming the drawer closed.

"Good. Being around you for more than a minute makes me nauseous," he told the blond, rubbing his stomach as if to prove his point and moving to his bed. It was a fair distance away from Draco's bed, thankfully.

"No, that would be the scent of _clean_. You're obviously not used to it," Draco informed him, making his way to the door.

"Malfoy! Get out of here before I do something stupid!" Ron yelled, pointing to the exit, his temper getting the best of him as it so often does.

"Please," Draco scoffed, opening the door. "You're already doing something stupid. That filthy little girlfriend of yours, remember?" he smirked, loving how many shades of red the other boy could turn.

"Hermoine is the smartest person in this school!" Ron shouted, insulted that anyone would have the nerve to think any different.

Draco knew that, of course. The girl was a walking encyclopedia. If it wasn't for her, Draco would have zero competition for valedictorian this year. When it came to academics, Hermoine Granger was always a shoo-in and he had always been bit jealous of that. Not that he would ever admit it, of course.

"Then why is she with _you_?" he smirked, shutting the door quietly before the Weasel could explode before starting off down the hallway. He was feeling a little better now. There's nothing like taking out your anger on somebody you hate.

Walking back down the main hallway, he noticed there were a lot more people there than before. A lot of teachers and last year students were giving some first years tours, showing them their way around. Some of them glared at him as he passed and he glared right back at them, but he was thankful that most of them were too busy to take notice of him, too busy noticing someone else.

That strange boy that he had seen that afternoon and his godfather were walking in his direction. You would think that he was a celebrity with the way people were gawking. And the kid was smiling at them! If _anyone _were to stare at Draco like that, he'd be snarling at them, but this boy was flashing smiles at them left and right. That smile... Girls were turning to mush and he wasn't even noticing! Draco couldn't help but think him a little cocky. What was his name again? Potter? That's right. Why did that name sound so familiar?

That afternoon, when he had first seen this boy, he couldn't help but stare, and that was exactly what was happening now. When his mother had said that the man with him was her cousin, he had been mortified. He seriously thought he had been checking out his cousin! Who wouldn't freak out about that? After he found out that the boy wasn't the man's son, Draco's first thought was that they were together, that they were a couple, that they were fucking. The thought of a boy around his age being with a _man _around thirty shocked him. He had no idea why that would be his first thought and he cursed himself for being so stupid. The boy could've been his nephew for all he knew!

There were some things he didn't notice about the boy before, but being two stories up, he couldn't exactly see him very well then. Now, though, he could see the boys _eyes_. They were Draco's favorite color. They weren't just any everyday green-brown or green-blue, but bright, emerald green. Draco was sure that they were colored contacts. Nobody could have eyes _that_ green.

Draco almost jumped when those impossibly green eyes locked with his and he felt like he'd just been kicked in the gut, the air leaving his lungs. He would've looked away, wanted to look away, but then the boy grinned at him. It wasn't one of those 'it's okay, I'm not going to mug you' smiles that he had seen on him before. This one was smaller, more real. It spoke of playfullness and character. Draco knew from that moment on, that this boy was going to be a huge problem.

He finally managed to look away as he passed him, but he couldn't help but chance a glance back. In doing so, of course, he couldn't see what was right in front of him and crashed into someone.

"Watch where you're going, you imbecile!" he shouted.

He was sure the whole thing was his fault, but god, that was embarrassing! It was easier to blame someone else. Unbidden, that song _Clumsy_ by _Fergie_ popped into his head, but he pushed it away before it could get stuck in his head, just as it had since the first and only time he's had the misfortune of hearing it. He hadn't even said a single word to the guy and yet he was falling over himself just to get a look at him? There was something wrong with him, he was sure.

"Hey! Who do you think- Malfoy? What are you doing here?"

Draco had been about to take off, but he looked back when he heard his name. The person he had crashed into was none other than Blaise Zabini. Maybe his mother hadn't lied about him being punished to live in the dorm building after all. They weren't exactly friends, hell, they weren't even on first name basis, but Draco was glad there was someone that he knew there. Someone that was going through what he was going through.

"Exactly the same reason you're here," he answered, walking away. That wasn't untrue. He did feel like he was being punished for something. He just didn't know what exactly.

"So you moved to the dorm building to be closer to your girlfriend, too?" Blaise asked confusedly, going back in the direction he had come from. He knew that couldn't be the reason Draco was there, so he was curious.

"What are you talking about? My mother said that your parents are punishing you because you totaled another BMW or something like that," the blonde explained, continuing down the hallway and wondering distantly why Zabini was following him.

"What? Malfoy, I've never driven a BMW in my life. What's going on?" he asked. Draco stopped to look him in the face and knew he was being serious. So his mother _did _lie to him about the Zabini's! Figured.

"Then what are you doing here?" he asked, opening the door that led to the lobby and stepping into a crowd.

Blaise caught the door before it could close and followed him out, weaving through the throngs of people. "I already told you. Weren't you listening?"

"No. I have my own problems to worry about right now," Draco told him bluntly, managing to get to the double doors that led outside without being trampled. It was the doors that students had to go through to get to the main building every morning before classes.

"Want to tell me about it? I have some time to kill before the feast," Blaise offered.

Draco looked at him oddly, not sure of his intentions, but figured that it couldn't hurt to tell someone. It's not like Blaise would tell anyone, Draco knew. He just wasn't the gossiping type.

"I guess," he agreed hestitantly, figuring that he might as well if his mother was going to be looking out for the boy for a while, before heading to the lake, one of his favorite places at Hogwarts. If Blaise was wondering why, he didn't say anything.

When they got to the lake, Draco took a seat on a nearby bench, Zabini taking the spot next to him. He took out a cigarette and lit it, holding out the pack in offering to Blaise, not sure if he smoked, but not sure if he didn't, either. Blaise waved it off, commenting that he didn't know that Draco smoked, to which the blonde said nothing.

"So, are you gonna tell me what's up?" Blaise asked, looking out to the lake and trying to get comfortable on the hard bench.

Draco told him everything as calmly as he could, no matter how angry the subject made him. He told him about what his mother had said, about how she had lied to him. He told him about his key not working and how McGonnagal told him that he had been moved to the dorms. He even told him about the phone conversation with his mother. He didn't go very in to detail about anything, but he got the point across. Blaise interrupted several times to put in his opinion, telling him that the dorms probably weren't as bad as he thought and that if his mother thought it was for the best, then it probably was. Draco didn't even bother arguing with him about _that_.

"You actually _wanted_ to live in the dorms?" he asked incredulously, taking a drag.

"Well, yeah. I mean, my girlfriend thought it was a good idea, you know? I wasn't sure at first, but I got to thinking over the summer and I don't know anyone in the private building that knows someone that stays in the dorms. They're just too separated, you know? They don't even have the same rec room. I think I made the right choice, though. I never really got to see her last year. We were always sneaking around just to spend time together. It was fun at first, definitely, but it got old fast," Blaise explained, running a hand through his rich brown hair.

Draco was surprised. He didn't know Blaise very well. They had spoken to each other before, of course, but they'd never really spoken about anything personal. He had heard rumors about Blaise sneaking around and seeing girls, and he felt foolish for believing them, but he didn't know that he was sneaking around to see _one _girl, a girl that he apparently had strong feelings for. Draco noticed something else, too. Blaise never did say his girlfriends name.

"So, who is this girlfriend of yours anyway?" he asked, dropping his finished cigarette to the ground and stepping on it, then cursed silently when he remembered that he was wearing one of his favorite pair of shoes.

Blaise grinned. "That's a secret," he whispered.

Draco raised a brow. "Her parents don't approve then?" he guessed, standing up and brushing off his pants.

"It's not _her _parents that don't approve," the other boy sighed, stretching his back out.

"And you're still with her?" Draco asked, surprised, looking at Blaise with wide eyes. He knew that going against his father had to take a hell of a lot of courage. Courage that Draco certainly didn't have.

Blaise's parents were divorced, his mother as judgemental as could be expected, but his father was just as bad as Draco's own when it came to controlling their children. Draco had to admit that having his entire life already planned out for him was a little comforting in it's security, and if it wasn't for that whole 'gay' issue, he wouldn't have had any problem giving his father complete control over his life.

"It's not their choice. Besides, I can't _not _be with her, man. I love her," Blaise told him, making Draco snort. Blaise shook his head at him, but said nothing.

They talked about unimportant things until they got back to the dorm building, where Blaise asked the blond what room he was in. When Draco answered him, Blaise laughed and responded with a 'Really? Me, too!' and a friendly clap on the back that was dropped quickly when Draco glared at him.

Draco knew that had to be his mothers doing. It was way too much of a coincidence that they were in the same room. He was still too angry with her to feel grateful, but he couldn't say he wasn't happy about it. It was the least she could've done, really, and Draco was surprised at how well the woman had thought this whole thing out so well and put it all together as quick as she did. Narcissa was a force to be reckoned with, that was for sure.

Coming up to 'their' new dorm room, Draco heard several voices on the other side of the door. He mentally tried to prepare himself to meet his new roommates, knowing that, with all the voices he was hearing, they all had to be in there. Unlike him, Zabini seemed almost eager to meet them, opening the door as soon as he got to it. Draco went in after him and the first thing his eyes met were the emerald ones of Harry Potter. He froze for a spilt second, not blinking, and he could've sworn that the entire room went silent.

Until Ron broke it by muttering, "Speak of the devil."

Draco aimed a death glare in the redhead's direction that could've set a snowflake on fire. There wasn't a legitimate reason, really, but Draco was more furious in that second than he had been all day. And that was saying a lot considering the day he'd had. In that one sentence, Ron had told him that he had just told Potter everything he thought about him. Draco knew _exactly_ what the Weasel thought and it wasn't 'good' to say the least when it concerned him.

The thought of the redhead sitting there on that couch, telling Potter every nasty thing Draco had done to him to his friends, everything he hated about him, everything the name _Malfoy_ represented to him, just set Draco's blood on fire. He didn't understand why what Potter thought was so important to him and that just made him even more angry. No, that wasn't true. Draco did know why it mattered so much and _that_ was why it made him angry. As long as his father was his father, there was no way in _hell_ he could be attracted to another guy. He understood that. He _accepted_ that. And he was angry at Potter for messing that up.

A thousand questions raced through his head. Why did today have to be _so _bad? What did that Weasel tell him? Why did his mother have to put him through this hell? Why did Potter have to be put in this very room? Why did the Weasley have to be born? Why did Potter have to be there at all?

Ron was a little taken aback by the intensity of Draco's glare, and for a second he looked a little unsure, but then made up for it by glaring at him and saying, "What's up with you, Princess?"

Draco vaguely recognized two of his other dorm-mates in the room. He didn't actually know them, never spoke a word to them in his life, but he had heard rumors that they were together, gay rumors being one of the few Draco made sure to stay away from. He didn't know if that were true or not, but considering how close they were sitting, he suspected that it was. He wasn't sure of their first names, but he knew their last names were Finnigan and Thomas, or something close to that. Both of them stopped whatever they were doing to watch the fight they thought was coming.

It was so unlike him, but Draco walked right passed the redhead and said absolutely nothing. He just couldn't deal with all this drama in one day. If he had to deal with anything else, he was sure he would explode. He figured that it was as good a time as any to finish unpacking, so he toed off his shoes, kicking them under his bed, then pulled his suit case out from underneath and unzipped it. All of this was done in a way that could only be perceived as an angry manner.

After that, everyone realised that there wouldn't be any argument and all conversation started up again. He noticed Blaise introducing himself to his dorm-mates from his peripheral vision. He thought that he should probably be doing the same, but he knew that they already knew his name and everything else about him. He would be out of there in two months anyway, so why even bother?

"Need a hand?" a voice sounded next to him, making him jump at the proximity. He spun around, taking a step back when it brought him face-to-face with Harry Potter, who was leaning against his bed-frame and giving him an apologetic smile for making him jump. Even after taking a step away from the boy, Draco still noticed how close the raven was to him, like personal space meant nothing to the boy. Draco resolutely put more space between them.

"No," he answered blankly, willing his heartbeat down and going back to what he was doing. He did notice, though, that Potter had a lightening-shaped scar on his forehead that Draco hadn't seen before. It could hardly be seen from underneath his long black bangs, but it was definitely there. He knew he should be thankful that Potter was giving him a chance after hearing whatever Ron said about him, but he was still too angry to be nice to anyone. Plus, he wasn't sure if the boy was just being nice to him because he found out who his father was and wanted to get on his good side. He doubted it, but he couldn't be sure.

The boy looked confused for a second and his smile faded completely at Draco's cold response, but he decided to try again anyway. "Oh. Er... I'm Harry-"

"Potter. Yes, I know," Draco told him, thinking he'd take the hint and leave. He figured that now would be a good time to change clothes. He wanted desperately to get out of this conversation before it got even worse. He thought the boy had left when he didn't hear anything else, but after a moment the boy spoke up again.

"Well, are you sure you don't need any-"

"No, I don't need any help. You can _go_ now," he told the boy with poorly concealed patience, picking out a change of clothes. When he was finished, he looked at Harry with an expression that clearly said 'what now?'.

"Look, I'm just trying to be friendly," Harry tried, starting to look a little insulted.

"Friendly?" Draco scoffed, crossing his arms guardedly over the folded clothes in front of his chest and looking at the raven haired boy with contempt at best. "I don't need any more _friends_, okay? And I know that you're new here, so let me give you a little hint. Everything that you heard about me before I came in was probably true. I'm not _nice_," Draco practically spat the word,_ "_and I definitely don't want to be your friend. I'll be out of here in two months, so do yourself a favor and try to ignore me, will you? And now that that's out of the way, why don't you go back over there to the Weasel and tell him that I'm just not up for playing nice today, hm?" he suggested sarcastically, walking backwards to the bathroom door while he spoke so he could see Potters face. His expression almost made Draco laugh.

He turned around to open the bathroom door and stepped inside. When he looked back at the gaping raven-haired boy, and _everyone_ else, he couldn't help but add one more thing. "And you might want to learn how to use a comb while you're at it," he smirked. And with that, he slammed the door.

Draco knew that misplaced aggression probably wasn't a good thing, but taking it out on Potter made him feel ten times better than before. The boy really didn't do anything to deserve it, and he did feel a little guilty, but Draco figured he just solved his own problem by making the boy hate him. It would definitely be easier not to like the boy if Potter wasn't being so nice to him.

Draco was so lost in thought that he didn't see where the floor rose up a step and stubbed his toe on it. He hissed, dropping his clothes on the tiled floor and clutching his foot in pain. If _that_ wasn't instant karma, then he didn't know what was.

_Clumsy 'cause I'm falling in love..._

Damn it.

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**Authors Note:** Well, how am I doing so far, people? Tell me what you think. I know many of you don't know, but there's a button below that says 'Review'. If you click it, you can criticize me! Give it a try, you might like it. But seriously, I'd really like some feedback.


	4. How Angelic

**Rating: **It isn't now, but it'll be M eventually.

**Warning: **Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness. Future drug use.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the series. Nor any of the songs mentioned in this chapter.

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**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Four**

**How Angelic**

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Sirius didn't stay long after helping Harry bring in his bags, just long enough to meet his new roommate, sign an autograph for him, and explain his departure. Harry didn't hold it against him at all, knowing Sirius was going to find Remus. They would all meet up later at the opening feast, he was sure, so it wouldn't be long before they saw each other again. Plus, Harry wanted to encourage as much 'alone time' spent between his godfather and Remus as possible.

At the moment, he was busy unpacking all of his things with the help of his new roommate, Ron Weasley. Harry instantly felt comfortable around Ron, if only for the fact that he wasn't wearing a tie. They got along great from the start. They made small conversation while putting everything away, just about themselves, sports, Hogwarts. Harry had discovered Ron's love for good, if not somewhat undiscovered music when Ron went a bit fanboy at meeting his godfather, so he thought Ron would like to hear some stories about him and The Marauders. Ron told him about his family, his brothers joke shop, stories from when he was little, and complained how his parents still treated him like a baby. Harry thought it was funny, but he had to admit, if only to himself, that he was a little envious that the other boy had a parents to bitch about in the first place.

"Wicked! You play?" Ron asked, seeing Harry putting way his guitar. He was looking at the raven with something akin to hero-worship. It was kind of how he looked at Sirius when he first recognized him.

Harry chuckled, a proud twinkle in his eyes. "Yeah. Sirius taught me," he told him, lightly calloused fingertips running down the length of six strings before closing the case and stowing it in his trunk, reminiscent of the way a mother puts her baby into a crib.

It was pretty quiet for a while, until Ron came across a tall stack of used composition notebooks. Curiosity got the better of him and instead of asking where Harry wanted them, he peeked inside one, wondering why Harry had so many of them. Every page- hell, every corner was filled with words. Reading further, he discovered that they were lyrics. Amazing lyrics, actually. He read three pages before he could put it down.

"...Whoa. Did you write all of these?"

After lifting another trunk onto his bed, Harry glanced in his direction. Upon seeing the notebook laid out across the other boys lap, his eyes widened a fraction. He paced over to the redhead to checked the cover. Some of the notebooks were more personal than others and he didn't want those to be read just yet. Or ever. He'd been careful with what he let Ron unpack, knowing there were some things he didn't want others to see.

"Er, yeah. I don't really write much anymore," he told him, mentally sighing in relief that Ron hadn't read any of his more recent songs. He wondered if Ron was always this intrusive.

"Why not? They're good. Really good."

"Oh, um. I guess I just lost inspiration." Harry found it a bit sad that that wasn't very far from the truth.

After they were finished putting everything away, Harry decided it was time to relax a bit and stretched out on his bed. Ron must've been thinking along the same lines because he fell back on the other end not long afterward, ignoring the fact that it wasn't his bed. They spent a while talking after that. Nothing too personal, just the typical 'where are you from?' and 'what do you do for fun?' conversation. Harry was somewhat happy about that, but soon the conversation went from soccer to the one topic he dreaded over all else when Ron found something Harry had intended, but forgotten to hide and he knew that lady luck must've had a serious grudge against him that day.

"Hey. You knew Cedric Diggory?"

Harry's eyes snapped to Ron as soon as the name was uttered, his heart somewhere in his throat, then down to what the redhead was looking at, what was held in his hands. Harry jumped up and practically _snatched_ it out of the other boys grasp. It was a completely involuntary reaction, but he instantly felt bad for it. He ignored the odd way Ron was staring at him and tried to play it off, pretend that nothing was wrong, no matter how difficult it was.

"Er... Yeah. You knew him?" Harry immediately regretted asking _that_ question, but he needed to continue the conversation with at least some resemblance of normal. Trying to distract himself, he set the object on his bedside table, trying to avoid any eye contact with the other boy.

Ron took a minute to answer, still wondering at Harry's strange behavior, but coming up with no reasonable conclusion, he shrugged it off. "Well, not really. Our dad's used to work together. You were a friend of his?"

"I was," Harry said, and he was so glad that his voice didn't crack on the word 'was'.

His eyes were fixed on the framed photograph on his bedside table, unable to move them away. Absolutely no emotion could be seen on his face, but he could feel his throat constricting the longer he looked at it. It was a terrible picture, really. It was maybe three years old and worn from not being properly cared for until recently. The faces in the photo were too close to the camera, making it obvious that the two boys in the picture were the ones taking it. Harry wished, not for the first time, that he could remember the day that it was taken.

Ron continued, oblivious to Harry's plight. "Yeah, I heard about what happened to him. That was awful. I never thought Cedric was the type, you know? I don't think anybody did. But I guess looks can be... deceiving..." he trailed off, noticing that Harry's eyes had closed. Looking closer, he saw that the raven-haired boy's jaw was clenched tight and he actually looked like he was in physical pain.

Ron gasped, realising his mistake a little too late. "Oh. Oh, god! I'm sorry-!"

"It's okay," Harry said, cutting him off. It wasn't. Not really. But Harry would've said anything for Ron to drop the subject. He finally made eye contact with the other boy, but then wished he hadn't when he saw what lurked behind the guilt in the redheads eyes. Nothing pissed him off more than _pity_.

"Are you sure? I mean-"

"Ron! I said it's fine, alright?" Harry didn't mean to snap at him, but he had had enough of this subject for one day.

Ron didn't look convinced, but nodded anyway. "Yeah. Yeah, sorry, man."

It was a little awkward after that to say the least and they were both feeling a little repentant. After what seemed like endless minutes of forced conversation and both of their efforts to change the subject, the topic of Cedric Diggory was forgotten. Well, at least to one of them.

"Hey, Ron. Do you know who else we're rooming with?" It was something that he had been wondering about and just until that moment had been forgotten.

Ron looked up from where he had been resting on bed number three. "Yeah, I was checking just before you came in. Um, besides you and me, there's Seamus and Dean, _Malfoy_, and someone named Bikini or something like that. There's a list on the back of the door," Ron answered, his face still twisted up disgustedly at the name Malfoy. Harry arched a brow at the name Bikini and got up to get a look at the list for himself.

"You know any of them?"

Ron nodded. "I was roomed with Seamus and Dean last year. They're a bit Brokeback, if you know what I mean, but they're cool," the redhead told him, kicking the shoes off his feet and onto the floor.

"They're what?" Harry asked, not understanding the phrase. Ron must've misunderstood his confusion for disgust because he hurriedly continued.

"Well, it's not like their gonna hit on you or anything. They're together. They've been attached at the hip since they were like, fourteen." he paused for a second, a thought occurring to him, giving Harry an appraising, almost suspicious look and sat back up. "Wait. You're not a homophobe, are you? 'Cause Seamus can get a bit... flirty... sometimes. And I don't mean just with Dean," he added as an afterthought.

"It doesn't bother you?" Harry asked, ignoring the question for the moment. For some reason, he couldn't picture Ron as being very open-minded.

"No, not really. I mean, I was a little freaked out when Fred and George came out to the family. The twins with the joke shop, remember?" he asked. After receiving a nod, he continued as if he was speaking to a therapist, a crimson blush slowly creeping up his neck as he picked at a loose thread on his shirt. "Well, I don't think it was them being gay that bothered me... No, what _really_ bothered me was what I caught them doing on the kitchen table. _Together_! I mean, _Christ_, I have to _eat _on that table! Argh!" He was rubbing his eyes vigorously with both hands, as if trying to get rid of the memory of what he'd seen. He seemed to have forgotten that Harry was in the room with him.

When he finished, Harrys eyes were wide. Then, he started to laugh. A small chuckle at first, but when Ron looked at him and went scarlet, realizing he'd just told Harry what he considered to be a huge family secret, Harry couldn't stop laughing. Ron joined in soon after his color went back to normal and soon, Harry was using the door to support his weight as he clutched his side.

"N-No, I don't have a problem with it," Harry told him after he stopped laughing, not knowing how else to respond to _that _information.

Ron smirked. "Good, 'cause I have a feeling Seamus is just gonna _love_ you." Before he even finished his sentence the door opened, almost hitting Harry, who was still leading on the back of it.

"Who would I love?"

The door was pushed open to reveal who Harry assumed to be the speaker. A boy about his age took one step into the room before coming to a halt, his eyes widening a bit when he caught sight of Harry. The boy was small, a lot smaller than Harry and had a somewhat feminine shape. He had short, sandy-blond hair and was dressed in khaki pants and a tight, long-sleeved shirt. He would've looked ordinary at Hogwarts if it wasn't for the pink trucker hat, tinted blue lips and huge sunglasses. The blue lollipop that he'd been sucking on dropped out of his gaping mouth and onto the hard-wood floor.

"Whoa," Seamus breath, his shoulders sagging. Hanging his sunglasses on the neck of his shirt, the Irishman's gaze swept over Harry's entire form appreciatively as he circled the boy. He stopped at Harry's amused green eyes and blinked for the first time since entering the room.

Ron grinned. "Seamus, meet Harry. Harry, this is Seamus," he introduced, getting up from his bed and crossing the room to give Seamus a pat on the back which Seamus barely noticed, not taking his eyes off of Harry for even a second.

Seamus wolf-whistled. "I heard milk does the body good, but _damn_, how much did you drink? Ouch!" He would've continued reciting every shameless pick-up line he could remember, but had to stop short when a suitcase was thrown at him, hitting him in the chest. He almost didn't catch it.

"Harry, this is Dean. Seamus's _boyfriend_," Ron said pointedly to Seamus, trying not to laugh. He was doing a better job than Harry at trying to hide it.

Dean shut the door behind him and dropped three other suitcases on the floor. He sent a withering glare at his boyfriend, to which Seamus put on a 'can you blame me?' expression and pointed an accusing finger at Harry like it was his fault. When Dean looked in Harry's direction, his eyebrows shot up a bit in surprise, and if the expression on his face was anything to go by, he didn't blame Seamus at all for flirting with him. He nodded to Ron and Harry in greeting, before taking off his jacket and throwing it on the couch, himself following. Seamus must've somehow taken this as forgiveness because within three seconds he was curled into his boyfriends side. Harry and Ron followed their example and got comfortable.

Dean was tall, taller than Ron even. Where Seamus looked a little on the dorky side, Dean had something of a down to earth, almost bohemian air about him. His dreadlocks were tied back into a ponytail and he had little spots of paint of all different colors on the sleeves of his shirt. It wasn't too obvious, but Harry could tell that he was an artist. The red and gold lettermans jacket threw him off a bit, though, since he didn't really look like the jock type. No matter they're differences in appearance, Seamus and Dean looked like they made a great couple. They seemed to balance eathother out perfectly. The chemistry between them was apparent in the way they didn't need to speak to get their message across to the other.

They spoke for a bit, getting to know one another. Harry found that Dean was actually in various clubs, explaining his lettermans jacket. That was followed by Seamus bragging about being in the Sexualities Club, which Harry didn't even know existed. It was a while before Harry remembered what he and Ron had been talking about before Seamus and Dean had made their appearance.

"Do you guys know who our other roommates are? Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini?"

"What do you mean 'Malfoy'?" Dean asked him disbelievingly.

"No way!" Seamus exclaimed, alarmed.

Ron nodded lamentably. "Yep, 'fraid so, guys." This caused the two other boys to groan in misery.

"So, who's this Malfoy? You guys make him seem like the spawn of Satan or something," asked Harry. It didn't escape his attention that whenever the name came up, everyone within hearing range seemed to cringe in disgust. He was curious, if not a little anxious, to find out who this person was.

"He is." They all replied at once, causing Harry to raise an eyebrow.

"He can't be all that bad, can he?" he asked.

"No, he's worse. Have you ever heard of Lucius Malfoy?" Dean questioned.

"Lucius 'Lucifer' Malfoy, the politician? He's on TV all the time," Ron explained, putting his socked feet up on the coffee-table and sinking deeper into the couch cushions behind him.

"Oh! I thought that name sounded familiar. Long white hair, walks with a cane...?" That man was kind of hard to miss.

Ron nodded, glaring at the air in front of him. "Yeah. That's Malfoys father. Biggest bastard there ever was."

"The dude even got Ron's dad fired," Seamus informed him, earning a glare from Ron and a nudge in the side by Dean for bringing it up. "Sorry," the Irishman pacified with a shrug.

Harry thought he should probably change the subject. "What about Blaise Zabini?"

"Zabini? Me and Dean had a couple classes with him. I thought he had a private room," Seamus said, looking to Dean for the answer.

"He did. But then, so did Malfoy," Dean told them.

Seamus shrugged. "He's okay from what I can tell, but everybody says he's a player."

"You guys don't really know much about anybody that lives in the private building, do you?" Harry asked them, sensing a reoccurring theme.

"..."

Harry took that as a no.

"Whatever. Zabini doesn't really matter. It's Malfoy you gotta watch out for," Seamus enlightened.

"Seriously, he's not someone you wanna go making friends with," Ron warned.

That was when the door opened, revealing a tall boy with thick dark hair and stylish clothing that Harry assumed was Blaise. Everything about him screamed culture and an Italian bloodline. He waved in greeting to everyone, flashing a small smile. Harry attention, however, was drawn to the person behind him.

He immediately recognized him as Draco, what with him looking so much like his father. This was the boy everyone was warning him to stay away from? Harry didn't get it. This boy looked like an angel! The unnatural lighting in the room created a golden halo in his white-blond hair as he stepped into the room from the dim hallway. The boy was impeccably dressed, wearing a long-sleeved, white collared shirt, pressed black pants and matching vest that fit his form perfectly, showing off his body without actually showing anything at all. He was all angle's and flawless ivory skin. Blue-gray eyes fell on his and stayed there as Blaise shut the door behind him. Harry had to admit, this boy was absolutely beautiful. He wasn't handsome in the traditional sense. No, the only word fit to describe him was beautiful. Harry was certain he couldn't be as awful as everyone seemed to think.

"Speak of the devil," Ron muttered darkly from beside him. Harry kept his eyes on the boy, who had heard what was said and was now glaring daggers Ron as if he was trying to set him on fire. Harry was as shocked as Ron was at its ferocity. Surely that one comment hadn't made him that angry, had it? Harry noticed Blaise casting a worried glance at the blond.

"What's wrong with you, Princess?" Ron asked after regaining his composure, earning a quiet snort from Seamus and drawing Draco's attention to the other occupants in the room.

Harry thought that Ron was being quite rude. The boy hadn't even said a word to him yet and Ron had insulted him twice already. Harry knew that Draco probably wasn't as innocent as he looked, but Ron was really starting to look like the bad guy in this situation. He was expecting some nasty retort from the blond boy to prove him wrong, but he just walked passed them, not saying anything. Harry eyes followed him and he felt the need to stand up for the boy, admonish his new friends, do something, but he was almost positive that it wouldn't be appreciated by either one of them.

Everyone seemed to start breathing again after that and Blaise introduced himself to them, taking a seat on the other side of Harry and getting comfortable. Harry eyes were still on Draco, watching as he kicked his stuff around and after a minute or two, Harry stood up to follow him, shrugging off Ron's hand when he grabbed his arm to stop him and went over to the boy. He didn't notice the look Blaise was giving him as he departed.

Harry came up to the boy and put on a friendly smile, asking him if he needed a hand unpacking his things, despite the fact that he was still tired from everything else he'd done that day. He just needed an excuse to talk to the boy, try to make up for his friend being such a jerk to him. He wasn't prepared for the blunt 'no' he got in response.

"Oh. Er... I'm Harry-"

"Potter. Yes, I know."

Harry raised a brow in surprise. The boys tone suggested he leave, but now there was another thing he wanted to find out; How did Draco know his name already? He was sure nobody had mentioned it, considering he hardly knew anybody yet. He decided to try again, only to get shot down once more. Harry was getting pretty frustrated, irritated with the other boys attitude. Did he have to be so rude?

"Look, I'm just trying to be friendly."

Draco looked him in the eye and scoffed. Then he went into a rant, telling Harry point-blank that he did not want to be his friend, that he'd be leaving in two months and that everything Harry had been told about him was true.

"And now that that's out of the way, why don't you go back over there to the Weasel and tell him that I'm just not up for playing nice today, hm?"

_Weasel?_

Harry usually considered himself a pretty good judge of character, so how did he misread Draco as much as he did? He didn't understand how someone so angelic-looking could be such an _asshole_.

"And you might want to learn how to use a comb while you're at it," the boy smirked, not giving Harry the pleasure of telling the blond off as he slammed the bathroom door shut. His hair wasn't his fault, it was genetics!

"Ouch," Seamus commented after a long, heavy silence. Dean and Ron nodded their heads in agreement.

He turned to the rest of the people in the room with an incredulous look at Draco's actions. Everyone was giving him a sympathedic look, even Blaise, who seemed to be Draco's friend. Ron's expression was a mixture between sympathy and an 'I told you so' look. Harry didn't blame him, he should've listened when everyone told him that Draco was a dick.

Harry tried to forget about it, deciding to do as Draco suggested and just ignore the other boy. He slipped his shoes back on, not bothering to tie them up all the way, and headed to the opening feast, realizing he was a little late and that he was starving. Everyone followed him, getting hungry themselves. He got to know Blaise a bit on the walk to the main building, Ron catching up with Seamus and Dean as they trailed behind the two. Blaise didn't try to apologize for Draco's behavior like Harry thought he would. In fact, nobody brought up the subject at all.

Seamus slung an arm around Harry shoulders as they came into the main building. "We're all gonna be sitting together, okay? Ron said you're meeting someone, so I guess we'll just follow you. That okay with you, Blaise?" he asked, leaning his head forward some in order to see him. He continued after getting a 'sure' from Blaise. "It'll give us a chance to get to know eathother better," he told Harry, ridiculously suggestive as he leaned in and waggled his eyebrows, making Harry laugh and shrug him off.

Pushing open the grand double doors leading into the main hall, the delicious smell of the room hit his nose, making his mouth water. Harry took a moment to look around the huge cafeteria as the rest of the guys went to get their food, searching for Sirius and Remus. He was positive that Sirius had already gotten him his food, so he didn't go with them. Upon seeing the duo, he grinned. The long tables were almost completely full, but there were barely any adults in the room, so they were fairly easy to spot. They were on the very end of an almost empty table, facing the doors, which Harry was sure they did intentionally, and as soon as Sirius noticed him walk in, he stood up to catch his attention, ignoring the fact that Harry was already looking right at him, and waved at him in a manner that was only suitable for five-year-olds.

Remus broke into a wide smile, standing when Sirius did and watched as Harry quickly strode up the gangway. He had to look twice, not recognizing him at first. "Harry?" he questioned, still not quite believing it was him. He was surprised at how much the boy had changed, looking so different from the last time he'd seen him, more like the man he was becoming and nowhere near as skinny.

Harry laughed, almost pouncing the man as he wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug. Remus laughed and returned the embrace whole-heartedly after he regained his balance. Neither one of them cared very much where they were or how many people were watching them.

"I almost didn't recognize you! How are you?" Remus asked, rocking them back and forth.

"I'm great, Remus. I missed you!" Harry told him, pulling away slightly to give him a bright smile.

"Oh, so did I, Harry," he told him, ruffling his hair, making it even more messy.

Sirius stayed on the sideline during the exchange, a huge grin on his face at seeing what he considered to be his family together again. After a minute or two, he noticed all the looks the two of them were getting, and not just from the students. Dumbledore and most of the teachers were watching them from the staff table. Some looks were tender, some questioning, and in Snapes case, disgusted. Sirius sent a glare to him, throwing an arm around Remus and Harry's shoulders, leading them to the bench to take a seat. Harry took the spot across from them and in front of Remus, leaving space for his roommates to sit.

"Looks like you have quite the fanbase, Harry," Remus observed, not having to look around to notice all the attention the boy had gathered.

"I know. You would think they never saw a new student before," he said, his attention on opening the two large styrofoam boxes Sirius had got for him, filled to the brim of most of Harry's favorite foods and then some. Did Sirius really think he was going to eat all of this?

Remus and Sirius exchange amused glances, both knowing for a fact that they weren't staring just because Harry was _new_.

"Harry, before I forget, I want you to have these, okay? But they're only for an emergency," Remus told him, taking a key-ring out from his pocket and jiggling the four keys in the space in front of him.

"What are they?" Harry asked, intrigued.

"This ones for my apartment. You already have the address," he told him, holding up the biggest one with the number fifteen on it. "This one's for my office upstairs," he continued, dropping the previous one and holding up a smaller, rounder one. "And this one is for the door to the main hall," he whispered. He showed him a small, square shaped one before he dropped them into Harry's open palm. "The last ones for the back door to the entrance building."

"Am I even allowed to have these?" Harry asked, looking down at the keys in his hand with a raised brow.

"No," Sirius answered, grinning proudly at Remus.

"Quiet, you. There's nothing in the rule book that says I can't," Remus defended.

"And I have no doubt you've read the entire book," Sirius chuckled fondly. "Why that last one, though?"

"Just in case it's after hours and he needs to get to my apartment."

Sirius laughed, stealing one of Harry's fries. "You just gave Harry the key to the whole school!"

Remus put a hand over his mouth, looking around. "Shh! Shut your big mouth before we get caught," he told him, dropping his hand with a disgusted face when Sirius licked his palm.

"My mouth is _not_ big," Sirius told him, looking offended.

"You know as well as I do that I shouldn't have. But, this is important. Now, be serious for a minute," Remus chided, wiping his hand off on a napkin and giving Sirius a glare for slobbering on him.

Sirius grinned broadly. "I am Sirius."

"Booo," Harry groaned at the lame, overused joke, mouth filled with food.

Remus rolled his eyes, but Sirius could see his lips twitching upwards. "Besides, it wont get him into the _whole_ school. I can trust Harry not to get into any trouble with them."

Sirius chuckled, "Did you forget whose son this is, Remmy?" he asked, poking the man playfully in the shoulder.

"I promise not to use my powers for evil," Harry assured them from around a mouthful of fries, hand raised in front of him in oath.

"Hey, Hare-bear. Who's this?" Seamus asked, setting his tray down in front of him and taking a seat next to Harry. Dean and Blaise sat beside him. A girl with long curly hair and warm, honey brown eyes was walking toward them with Ron, their fingers intertwined. She was carrying several textbooks with her, under her tray of food.

"Oh. This is my godfather, Sirius Black and this is your new English Lit. professor, Remus Lupin." He motioned to them as he introduced them. Once the girl heard who Remus was, she took a seat next to him, Ron sitting down beside her.

"These are my new roommates; Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, Blaise Zabini, and Ron Weasley. And this is...?" He trailed off questionably, looking at the girl with a friendly smile.

She returned it, flipping her long, curly hair behind her before holding out a hand. "Hermione Granger."

"Harry Potter," he told her in turn, reaching across the table to take her hand.

"You must be who Ron was telling me about," he said. That wasn't exactly true. Ron had told him that he had a girlfriend, but he never said much about her. He just assumed this was her after seeing them holding hands.

"I hope it wasn't anything bad," she said.

Harry gave her another charming smile. "Of course not. But he never did tell me how beautiful you are," he said, making her smile and blush a little. He chuckled when Ron rolled his eyes at him.

"I never knew you were such a flirt, Harry," Remus teased, elbowing Sirius, who was smiling at his godson from behind an energy drink.

Harry laughed. "I'm not. It was just a compliment."

When the tables were full, Dumbledore made his speech, greeting everyone and going over the rules. He told everyone about the various clubs and extracurricular programs and reminded anyone who was interested to sign up for the many recreational and interscholastic athletic clubs that Hogwarts offered. Remus stood up and bowed when he was introduced as the new English Literature professor.

Sirius saw how interested Harry looked when the Headmaster told them about the years annual talent show and he told the boy that he would help out if he wanted to be in it. He knew Harry's vocalization needed a little work. Albeit, the last time he'd heard the boy sing was years ago and his voice had definitely changed since then. In fact, it would probably rival his own with a little coaching, judging by how it sounded now. Sirius was sure nobody else stood a chance against Harry if he was going to compete. The boy was a genius when it came to writing songs, musical combinations and melodies. Sirius liked to think he got it from him, but he knew that Harry had the kind of talent you had to be born with. Plus, Sirius couldn't write lyrics for shit, so Harry couldn't have got it from him.

When the opening feast was over and everyone was leaving, Remus invited Harry to his office so they could catch up a bit more. He spent hours with them, so it wasn't until right before curfew that he got back to his dorm room. Shutting the door behind him quietly in case anyone was sleeping yet, he noticed Ron and Dean playing cards on the coffee-table. For some reason, Seamus was on the floor next to them, highly concentrated on whatever he was struggling with and making occasional grunting noises in effort. Brows furrowed, Harry moved closer.

"Seamus?"

The Irishman looked up. "Oh, hi, Harry. Have fun?" he asked, going back to whatever he was so concentrated on.

"Er, yeah, I did. What are you doing?"

Seamus sighed, sitting up to glare at his boyfriend heatedly. "_Somebody _glued a bunch quarters to the floor!"

Harry looked down, raising a brow when he saw about five quarters scattered across the floor.

"I don't feel that I need to explain my art to you, Seamus," Dean told him. His voice was aloof, but Ron and him shared an amused smirk that told the raven he did it on purpose.

Harry chuckled, going over to his chest of drawers so that he could get something to sleep in. He usually showered at night, but he was starting to get a bit tired and figured he could do it in the morning instead. Opening the top drawer, he noticed the curtains on bed number six were closed and figured that Draco was already asleep. He wondered if the boy had eaten anything. He couldn't remember ever seeing him at the feast. Not that he was looking for him.

"He didn't mean to be so rude, you know."

Harry turned to the speaker, seeing Blaise laying above the covers on bed number five. He was still dressed in what he was in from earlier, so Harry knew he wasn't sleeping. Blaises words registered in his head and he immediately knew who he was talking about. He figured Blaise must've seen him looking at Draco's bed.

"I don't know what you mean," he claimed, taking off his shirt and throwing it into the hamper beside his chest of drawers.

Blaise ignored his lie and continued in the same low, calm voice he used before. "Malfoy's not the type to get very close to anyone. I've known him for years and I still don't know very much about him. I don't think anybody does, except maybe his mother. He never really gave anyone the chance, you know, being as distant as he was. But today, when I saw him in the hallway, he looked so out of it. I asked him if he wanted to talk about whatever was bothering him, and he said _yes_. Now, I admit, I don't know much about Malfoy, but I know enough to tell you that if I had asked him that last year, he would've scoffed and told me to mind my own business. But he didn't, so I know something must've changed."

Harry didn't know why Blaise was telling him this. Hell, he didn't know why he was listening as intently as he was, but he found himself wanting to know more about the blond, despite how the boy had treated him.

"His mom is the only reason he's here in the dorms in the first place. Draco didn't have any choice in the matter at all." Blaise laughed as he continued, "She didn't even tell him about it first, just let him figure it out on his own. Draco doesn't seem to think so, but she's a good mom and I know that she wouldn't have done it if it wasn't for his own good. He's having a hard time with it, though. And he's definitely not used to people like you," he added with a chuckle.

"What do you mean 'people like me'?" Harry asked, more confused than offended. He had already changed into a pair of sleeping pants and took out his contacts, so now he was pulling down his covers to bed number four. He slipped in and got comfortable laying on his side, facing Blaise, who had the bed next to his.

Blaise was silent for a while, not sure how to explain. "You're just... You're not like the rest of us, you're different. Most people would've just avoided him after hearing about who he was, but you didn't. You were even being nice to him. He's used to everyone either hating him, or sucking up to him. I don't think he knew how to handle you, really."

Harry stayed quiet from a moment."Why are you telling me all of this?"

Finally, Blaise turned to look at him. Everything was a bit blurry, but Harry could still make out the expression on his face. He looked like he knew the answer, but wasn't sure if he should say it or not.

"Hm. Who knows? But like I said before, you're different," Blaise shrugged, standing up. "But then, so is he," he added cryptically before walking away, leaving Harry to wonder if he should rethink his decision of ignoring Draco.

That night, Harry dreamt of frenchfries, keys, and rude, blonde-haired angels.

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**Authors Note:** I wasn't entirely happy with the way this chapter turned out. I think I'm trying to turn Seamus and Dean into a couple I know. Can anyone guess what movie I got that quarter reference from? Anyway, leave a review and tell me what you think, I'd really appreciate it.


	5. Suspicion

**Rating: **It isn't now, but it'll be M, eventually.

**Warning: **Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness. Future drug use.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the series. Nor any of the songs mentioned in this chapter.

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**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Five**

**Suspicion**

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Having been the first to fall asleep, Draco was the first to rise. He took advantage of this naturally, eager to be the first one to shower, despite the fact that he'd already had one the night before, no more than nine hours ago. This was far from unusual, Draco would often bathe at night and then again the following morning. He hated the way his hair looked after getting out of bed, having absolutely no product in it. That problem should've been solved when the product was added, but it wasn't. It always ended up looking a bit disheveled and just not up to his usual standards. Well, to him at least. He also hated going to sleep feeling dirty, so this pattern seemed to work for him.

Opening his bed curtains, eyes still shut to ward off the sunlight pouring in from the windows on the opposite wall, the first thing he noticed was the three beds rowed in front of his. Or more precisely, the two beds that didn't have their curtains closed around them. Stepping out of his bed, he winced as his feet touched the cold wooden floors and found himself longing for the comfort of the heated floors back at the Manor. Or even carpeting, like his old private room had. Still half-asleep, he sluggishly moved closer into the walkway, keeping his line of sight on the beds with open curtains.

One of them was empty and looked like it hadn't been slept in. At first, he wondered if someone had already gotten up and left, but then remembered that two of his roommates were together and figured they were probably sharing a bed. Hoping in the back of his mind that living with this couple wouldn't cause any problems in the near future, his previously drooping eyelids became wide as he looked toward the other bed, seeing the half-naked body of Harry Potter.

The raven-haired boy was on his back, his head faced to the side and thankfully still asleep. Draco caught a relieved sigh before it could escape him, observing how restless Potter seemed. His brows were furrowed and his forehead looked a bit damp, like he'd been sweating. Sometime during the night, he must've kicked his blankets off because they were pooled on the floor below him, leaving only a white sheet wrapped around his legs and nothing covering his chest. Draco wondered if he was having a nightmare or if he was just a naturally restless sleeper.

That string-necklace thing was still wrapped around his neck and now that the boy didn't have a shirt on, Draco could see something metal hanging from the end of it, but couldn't tell what it was exactly. Draco wondered why he even wore the thing. It wasn't fashionable, if that was what the boy was going for.

Crossing one arm over his chest and brushing his bangs behind his ear with the other, Draco let his eyes trail down the boys lithely built chest, taking in the firm muscles of his abdomen as he breathed in and out, the dark line of hair trailing down and disappearing into the waistline of his pajama pants. He was thin in a way that suggested a fast metabolism, but bathing in the sunlight pouring in from the windows behind him, Draco could see every well-defined muscle, broad shoulders and chiseled features a preview of the man he was becoming. Draco was no expert when it came to athletics, never really finding any sport very useful aside from the exercise, but he would have to assume the raven was involved in some type of sport.

An undistinguishable mumble brought Draco's eyes back to the ravens face and Draco realized he was lingering, drinking in the sight as if on the brink of dehydration. Rolling his eyes at his own school-girl-with-a-crush behavior, he determinedly walked up to the bed and quickly swung its curtains closed. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Not quite.

Shaking out of his stupor, Draco gathered his school uniform and headed for a shower, wanting to leave before anyone woke up. Having not eaten the night before, he was surprised that he didn't feel very hungry, but just for the sake of keeping his energy up, he figured he should stop by the cafeteria and grab something before going to class.

It took Draco a good hour to finish his morning routine, making himself into the very picture of teenage perfection. As he stepped out of the bathroom, he noticed Blaise was awake and sitting up in his bed, curtains open and rubbing his eyes. There were two hours left before anyone had to be in class, yet nobody else was awake. Draco wondered if they had all gone to sleep late or if they were just lazy.

"Mornin' Malfoy," Blaise greeted, voice rough, yet amiable even though he'd just woken up.

Draco nodded to him in acknowledgment, but didn't say anything. It was strange seeing someone this early in the morning, so used to waking up in an empty room. He collected his bag, already filled with everything he needed, and went to his desk, grabbing his camera out of habit before heading to breakfast. There probably wasn't anything in the school he hadn't already taken a picture of at least once before, but he still liked to have it with him, just in case.

Aside from the staff table, the cafeteria was nearly deserted, being as early as it was, and Draco was glad for it. He wasn't up to socializing this morning and really didn't want anyone questioning where he had been yesterday, but, knowing Hogwarts, he had no doubt it would be all over the school by the end of the week. He had just bitten into an apple when he heard one of the most annoying things to ever grace his eardrums.

"Draco! Oh, sweetheart, where on earth have you been? I was so worried! What happened? Are you okay?"

Pansy Parkinson; one of the most aggravating people he'd ever met in his life. She slid onto the bench, as close to him as possible without being on top of him, and clutched his empty hand with both of hers the way his mother always had.

Their fathers had been pushing them to be together since before he had even attended Hogwarts Academy. Lucius had always taken the liberty of inviting her to all their parties, benefits, and anywhere else acceptable for her to attend. The same went for the Parkinson family when it came to Draco and he would always be forced to accompany her. It wasn't that they thought Pansy and Draco would make a good couple or that they'd be good for each other; the only thing they knew or cared about was that the joining of their families would make for good publicity.

Narcissa, on the other hand, couldn't stand the girl and how she treated Draco like a pampered prince, like he couldn't do anything for himself and shouldn't be expected to, not even the simplest tasks. No, Draco's mother didn't approve in the least, always having hated the fact that Lucius was practically forcing them together. She didn't say anything, but that didn't mean she didn't get the message across to Draco that she disapproved, loud and clear.

Draco knew that Pansy had to have known about it, but, unlike him, Pansy seemed to absolutely love the idea. She had the entire school thinking that she was Draco's girlfriend, even though she wasn't and would never be. Draco went along with it for the longest time without any complaint, if only for the convenience and to appease his father, but after a while, he started to get migraines every time the girl opened her mouth. Like now.

"Nowhere, nothing, and yes," Draco told her tonlessly, pulling and twisting his hand out of her grip and putting some space between them. He went back to his apple, vaguely amused at how utterly confused the girl looked at his response. This was probably how he'd managed to tolerate her company for so long, getting the better of her like he always had.

"Did you know that your room has been taken over by some smelly little first year? And you weren't even at the opening feast. You can tell me. _Please_?" Pansy pleaded, probably expecting some grand secret to be exposed.

"It's nothing for you to worry about," he answered. Most people would take that as 'it's none of your concern' or 'it's none of your business', but somehow, Pansy translated it into 'I don't want you to worry' and looked touched at what she thought was his concern for her.

"Oh, Draco, I'm sure that I can handle it, whatever it is. Now what is going on?"

Noting the determined shift in her tone, Draco had the feeling she wasn't going to stop anytime soon and sighed. "Okay, fine. But before I tell you, could you do me a small favor?"

She gave him a smile, happy to be of use and thinking she had gotten her way. "Anything, sweetie. What is it?"

"A bottled water? If that isn't too much trouble, of course," he asked, purposely trying be as nice as possible.

"No trouble at all, darling. I'll be right back," she told him, kissing the crown of his head. He held back a glare at the action. Public displays of affection never failed to embarrass him.

As soon as she was out of sight, Draco grabbed his things and calmly walked out of the cafeteria, a satisfied smirk on his face and leaving the rest of his breakfast were it was. He hoped she wasn't in any of his classes this year, but he knew he couldn't be that lucky.

On his way to his first class, he checked his watch and realized he was over a half an hour early. He supposed it didn't really matter since Snape was his godfather. He could always hang out with him in his office until class started if he wasn't in the classroom yet.

Walking into the room quietly, Draco saw his godfather at his desk, going through papers. His greasy black hair was tied back and he was decked out in nothing but black clothing, aside from the white of his collar that was mostly covered by a black waistcoat. If he didn't look so menacing, Draco would think he looked like a priest. The only light in the room was his desk light and the minimal light showing through the recently dusted blinds on the window.

Draco retrieved his camera silently, wanting to get a picture of his godfather in his natural habitat before the man noticed him.

_Click. Beep._

"Hello, Sev," Draco greeted with a small smile, closing the door to the chemistry classroom and hanging his camera around his neck, concealing it in the shirt of his uniform.

Snape's cold, dark eyes glanced up at him once when the flash went off, then at the clock, before returning to whatever paperwork he'd been doing.

"Draco. Strange seeing you here this early," he commented, ignoring the fact that he'd just been photographed. He was used to Draco randomly snapping pictures by now.

Draco took a seat in the desk closest to him, hanging his bag on the chair behind him. He wondered if Severus knew about what his mother had done yet or not.

Draco sighed. "I suppose you haven't heard of my new living arrangements then?"

Severus scoffed, flipping a page. "Don't be daft, of course I have. Dumbledore can't keep anything secret for long, you should know that. I wouldn't be surprised if that mongrel Lupin already knew."

"Who's Lupin?" Draco asked, curious at how vemenent Severus spoke about him.

Severus looked up at him through his brows, a small smirk teasing the end of his lips. "Oh, that's right. You decided to skip the opening feast to stay locked away in the dormitories all night and sulk," he teased.

Draco glared and crossed his arms petulantly. "I was not _sulking_, I just wasn't hungry," he drawled.

"Right," Snape snorted. "Remus Lupin is the new English Literature professor," he explained shortly, going back to his work. "Now, you can either sit there quietly and let me finish my work, or you can make yourself useful and go print out two hundred of these," he said, holding out a sheet of paper to Draco, not pausing in his work.

"You'd make your own godson do menial chores?"

"You won't be my godson until three o' clock this afternoon. Until then, you are nothing more than an irritating student who is distracting me from my work. Besides, you should consider it a privilege. Do you really think I'd allow one of my students touch anything of mine?" he said dismissively, waving the paper in his hand impatiently.

Draco snickered, but did as he was told and left Severus to his work. By the time other students started to arrive, Draco was back in his seat, waiting for class to begin. He sat in front, so unlike the many other students who tried to stay as far away from Severus as possible by sitting in the back. And unlike almost everyone, Draco found Severus comfortable to be around, had since he was little.

At exactly eight o' clock, Snape shut the door, signaling that class was about to start. He took attendance first, as usual. Not calling out the names himself, but having them say their own names. He found it more efficient that way. Draco learned that not only was the Weasel and his big-headed girlfriend in this class, but Finnigan and Thomas were, too.

However, just as Snape finished attendance, the door swung open, revealing a panting and rather ruffled Harry Potter. The first thing Draco noticed about the boy was that his hair was wet, making it look a little tidier than the day before and even a bit darker, too. He looked like he had just gotten out of the shower, which Draco had no doubt that he had.

The next thing Draco noticed was that he wasn't wearing his uniform. Instead, he wore another pair of slightly-baggy jeans, this time black, and a clingy, long-sleeved red shirt. That string thing was still around his neck, only wrapped around twice today, again making Draco wonder why the boy bothered to wear the ugly thing to begin with. A studded leather belt was around his waist, the metallic buckle reflecting the unnatural lighting of the room. There was an impressively expensive-looking leather bag at his side that Draco was a little envious of. To be honest, he looked the very picture of teenage rebellion, sticking out like a sore thumb. Snape was not pleased.

"Well, what a magnificent entrance that was. _And _it just earned you a detention. Congratulations. Now, what is your name?" Snaped asked, eyes narrowed. If there was one thing Snape hated, it was tardiness. He knew this boy was going to be nothing but trouble, and Draco had to agree on that point.

Potter sighed heavily, walking into the room and giving everyone a better look at him. Every students eyes were wide, aside from Snape's, which were narrowed into slits as he took in the boys peircings and choice of clothing. Draco saw Weasley, Finnigan, Thomas and even Granger sending him sympathetic, yet amused looks. It was obvious that everyone all thought he had ignored the dress-code on purpose. Some students were amused, some were awed, and some looked a little scared for him, but one thing was for certain. Harry Potter had just made one hell of a first impression.

"Harry Potter, sir," he answered respectfully, running a stressful hand through his hair.

Snape's eyes widened a fraction, but not enough for anyone but Draco to notice. Draco wondered what _that_ was about. Did Severus actually know this boy somehow?

"A Potter, eh? I should've guessed," Snape sneered, standing threateningly close to the boy. Draco knew that that was definitely an insult to the boys family. Everyone, including Draco, held their breath.

Potters eyes widened in surprise before he glared at the man, which probably wasn't the _smartest_ idea. "Excuse me?" he asked slowly.

"It would be wise to watch your tone, Potter. I do not tolerate disrespect in my class, nor do I tolerate tardiness. Next time you're late, you might as well not bother to show up at all. You'll be marked as absent either way. And as I am sure you know, there is a _dress code _at this Academy. Two more detentions," Snape sentenced, glaring.

Potter was defiant, leaning his head to one side. "That's a bit hypocritical, if you ask me. I think the class would agree that you're being very disrespectful yourself," he told him in a low voice, making the other students lean in to heard him.

It was true, though. Even Draco had to admit that Severus was being a lot more brutal than he usually was. He felt a little sorry for the boy, but he was only making it worse by standing up for himself. Snape wasn't someone to stand up to. Potter was either very brave or very, very stupid. Draco was guessing a vast amount of both.

Snape's left eye twitched. "Would you like to make it four?"

Harry raised a brow and continued to look defiant. "Four detentions in one class? That's a bit much, don't you think?" he asked in a sarcastically unaffected tone, causing some students to gasp, a cluster of hushed whispers filling the room. Draco smirked, truly entertained. Did this boy have a death wish?

"Not enough, in my opinion. Two more words from you and you'll be out of this class _permanently_, do you understand? Now I suggest you take a seat," Snape practically growled, and Draco could almost swear he could see a vein throbbing in his forehead.

Potter eyes (now an intense dark green) were still glaring daggers, but the corner of lips twisted into a smirk, and Draco had to admit that it was sexy, if only in a purely observent way. Passionate was one word Draco felt suited Potter, even in the so little time he known the boy. There was something dark about him, something raging just under the surface of that 'nice' exterior Draco had seen the day before, and it was showing itself now, deep-seeded anger and hostility in those gorgeous green eyes that made Draco feel like he could swoon, excited and a little scared should that look ever be aimed at him. His eyes never strayed from Potter's face.

"Yes, _sir_," Potter hissed, keeping eye contact with the man as he took the only available seat beside Draco's.

He'd just intentionally said the two words he'd been forbidden to say, though he was still technically answering Snapes question. Snape knew he couldn't kick him out for that, but everyone knew how badly he wanted to. The boys sheer audacity was enough to make Snapes blood boil. Draco's blood, too, was boiling, but for an entirely different reason.

Every student in the class was gaping, staring at Potter from where they sat. Nobody had _ever _dared to stand up to Snape before. It just wasn't done. And by the looks of things, Potter had won their little argument. Everyone, Draco and Snape included, had to feel some kind of grudging respect for him, if only for the fact that the boy had moxie. There was no doubt in Draco's mind that this whole thing would be all over the school by lunch.

It would seem that Harry Potter had just become a legend in the eyes of the student body.

Class went on as normal from then on. Severus was a little meaner and the students were a little quieter, but it was fairly normal. Draco kept a eye on Potter throughout that class, against his will of course. Potter was now Snape's favorite student, right next to Longbottom.

He stayed in his seat when the bell rang, signaling students to get to their next class. He wanted to know what that whole thing was about.

After everyone left, Draco walked up to his godfathers desk, taking a seat on top of it. "Mind telling me what that was all about?"

"I don't know what you mean," Snape claimed, making Draco sigh.

"Oh, don't play dumb, Sev. You know exactly what I mean. As soon as the boy said his name, you took his head off. Or tried to," Draco snickered.

Snape glared at him. "That boy was being rude and disrespectful-"

"Only after you insulted him," Draco interjected smugly. "And I have to agree, four detentions in less than five minutes? That _is_ a little extreme."

Snape gave him an appraising look. "Hm. I have to say, you seem _strangely_ interested," he observed.

"I do not!" Draco protested, making Snape restrain a smirk. The boy was so easy to rile up.

"Get to class, Draco."

"Okay, fine. But don't think for a second this means I'm dropping the subject because I'm not," Draco told him, hopping down from the desk.

"Of course not," Severus agreed.

"'Of course not'," Draco mocked him childishly as he left the room, making Severus snort.

The rest of Draco's classes went by in a blur until lunch. Thankfully, he didn't have any have any more classes with Potter so far. Or Pansy, for that matter. He skipped lunch, choosing to relax up in his favorite tree by the lake instead and have a smoke. His thoughts kept trailing back to Potter, though, so he wasn't very relaxed at all.

He supposed that, yes, he did feel bad for what he'd said to the boy the day before. Sure, he'd been in a bad mood, but Potter didn't necessarily deserve to have it taken out on him just for being nice. Draco felt a little guilty and he really wasn't used to it. He tried to shrug it off, but every time he did, his thoughts would eventually go right back to the raven-haired boy. There was no taking it back now. What's done cannot be undone, right? And apologizing was out of the question. That would make it seem like he was sorry, which was just preposterous.

His thoughts followed him into English Lit, where they decided to take a break. He was a little early, anxious to meet this new teacher after hearing how his godfather talked about him. What was it he called the man? A mongrel?

Entering the classroom, he wasn't surprised that he was the first student to arrive. Lupin was already at his desk, speaking to someone on a cellphone, which Draco was sure he wasn't supposed to have.

"It should be in the third cabinet to your left... No, that's the one on your right. I said left... Good. Just try not to burn the house down, okay?"

He noticed Draco walk in and gave him a small smile, holding up a finger to tell him that he would be a minute.

"I know that, Siri, but that's not the point. Do not burn the house down!... Well, maybe your sense of humor could use some work then."

Draco took his seat, listening to the one-sided conversation, but pretending not to be. He vaguely wondered who the man was talking to.

"Yes, I have a class any minute... He should be here soon... Okay, I'll see you later this evening... Bye," he said, snapping the phone shut and pocketing it. He stood up and turned to Draco with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry about that. I'm Professor Lupin," he introduced, holding a hand out.

Draco looked at the hand warily before shaking it. "Draco Malfoy," he told him, waiting for the mans reaction to is name, sure that that would be one.

"Nice to meet you, Mr Malfoy."

Whatever Draco had expected him to say, that wasn't it at all. Draco wondered why Severus didn't like the man. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with him that he could tell.

Students soon flooded into the room. Among the last of them was Weasley, Finnigan, Blaise and (much to Draco's frustration) Potter. He was still dressed in what he was from earlier, though his hair had dried.

"It was awesome. I thought Snape was about to have a heart attack, he was so angry!" Weasley exclaimed, laughing along with Blaise and Finnigan. It was obvious what they were talking about.

"Come on, Ron. It wasn't that great. I got three detentions," Potter sighed. Draco was surprised that he wasn't being smug about it.

"Well, I did try to wake you up this morning. You sleep like the dead," Ron said, taking a seat.

"And shirtless," Finnigan said, sitting next to Weasley and grinning up at Potter. Potter rolled his eyes (along with Draco) and approached Professor Lupin, who was busy talking to another student. When he was finished, he turned to Potter with a bright smile, but when he saw what the boy was wearing, he chuckled.

"Nice outfit, Harry," Lupin said.

Draco raised an eyebrow. So far, Lupin had only been calling every student by their last names.

Potter sighed. "I know, I know. I was running late this morning and forgot. I guess I'm just not used to wearing uniforms," he said, putting a hand on Lupins back to lead them to the mans desk for some privacy. He ran the other hand through his hair in a stressful manner.

"I didn't keep you out too late last night, did I?" Lupin asked, worried.

Draco eyes narrowed in suspicion at that statement. Last night?

Potter shook his head. "No, I just had some trouble sleeping," he said, then gave the man a hopeful grin. "Actually, I was hoping you could maybe do me a favor."

"Of course, Harry," Lupin agreed immediately. "But I'm afraid it'll have to wait until after class."

Potter gave him a bright smile. "Thank you, Remus. I'd really appreciate it," he said, stepping backwards toward the seat Weasley had saved him, which was unfortunately in the next row in front of Draco, giving him a clear view of the back of the boys head.

"That's Professor Lupin here, Mr Potter," Lupin chided teasingly, shaking a finger at him.

Potter chuckled, taking his seat. "You got it, Moony," Potter winked cheekily, making the older man laugh.

Moony? Draco was suspicious to say the least. After what happened last time when he stupidly thought the boy was his godfathers lover, he was hesitant to read too much into it but, still, Potter and Lupin acted a little too close in his opinion. They had to be close, he knew that for certain. Lupin had said that they'd been together the night before and he hadn't seen Potter at all yesterday after their little spat, meaning he must have gotten in pretty late.

Still, Draco didn't want to jump to conclusions. He wasn't even sure why it should matter to him in the first place.

Deciding that it didn't, Draco told himself to forget about it. He was probably reading too much into it anyway. They could just be friends, for all he knew. But who had friends about twenty years older than them? And what was that favor Potter was asking for?

Draco was busy staring at Lupin with narrowed, calculative eyes, when the man looked at him, making eye contact. Draco quickly averted his gaze, but not before he caught the surprised look on the older man's face.

"Hey, Harry?" Finnigan whispered from the seat behind Potter as Lupin started taking attendance, catching Draco's attention.

"Yeah?" Potter asked, keeping his voice low and turning around in his seat.

Finnigan pointed to his neck. "What's that thing around your neck? You've been wearing it since yesterday."

"Oh," Potter gave a smile that Draco thought looked a bit fake, unwrapping it and taking it off, holding it up in front of him in explanation. The metal piece Draco had seen that morning was dangling from the end of it, and his jaw dropped a little as he realized what it was.

"Is... Is that a tongue ring?" Weasley asked, not sure if it was.

"Yeah, I carry an extra around so I wont lose it," Potter explained, putting it back on.

"You have your tongue pierced?" Finnigan asked, his eyes glued to Potters mouth.

"Yeah," Potter laughed, sticking out his tongue, showing off the small metal stud in the center.

"Oh, that is so sexy," Finnigan sighed dreamily.

Draco looked at the leprechauns profile with disgust, but he was forced to agree with the boy. When he was thirteen, he met a model from Black Designs that had a piercing and he immediately wanted one. His mother said no, of course, thinking it was just a stage that he'd grow out of or something. He never asked again, never even brought up the subject again, but he still thought that they were kind of cool.

"You do know that that's against school policy, don't you?" Blaise smirked.

"Is it?" Potter replied thoughtlessly, obviously not caring.

Nobody said anything else about the subject and class went by in no time at all. They didn't really learn anything new, mostly just brushing up on what they learned the year before. The only 'homework' they received was from Snape, so all in all, Draco thought it was a pretty boring school day so far.

Draco didn't plan on staying after class, even though by doing so he would probably get to hear about the favor Potter had been talking about with Lupin, but he ended up having to anyway when he accidently dropped his bag, spilling its contents onto the floor. He sighed, stooping down to pick everything up. He went to reach for the notebooks that had strewn across the floor, but someone got to them before he did and held them out to him.

He was expecting to see Lupin, but when he looked up, he met the emerald eyes of Harry Potter. Draco's breath hitched in his throat at how close their faces were and he didn't do anything for a second, caught by the boys intense stare. He was immensely confused by the boys actions. Why on earth would he be helping him?

Potter wasn't smiling like he had been the day before, but Draco considered it a good thing that he wasn't frowning either. His face was unusually blank. He was just looking at him, holding his stare, one arm on the desk beside him, the other still offering Draco's notebooks out to him patiently and waiting for him to take them.

Draco looked down at the notebooks before he took them, his fingertips brushing the other boys just barely, and put them back into his bag. Potter stood up without waiting for any acknowledgment of appreciation, probably not expecting one in the first place, and walked away, up to Professor Lupins desk, where the man was leaning on it and was watching Potters act of kindness with a hidden smile.

Draco took note of the way the boy didn't hesitate to take a seat in Lupins chair behind his desk as he was leaving the room. He shut the door behind him, but as he heard the two start talking he stopped in his tracks. Draco knew that eavesdropping was rude, of course, but that certainly didn't stop him from doing it. He was curious. And as long as no one knew he was doing it, what could it hurt?

Feeling justified with this logic, Draco back-tracked his steps until he was in better hearing range.

"So, what's this favor you wanted, Harry?" he heard Lupin ask from behind the door.

"Well, I was a couple minutes late in Chemistry this morning," Potter began.

"Ah," Lupin said, like he understood where Potter was going with that.

"Yeah. And when I showed up, Snape gave me _three_ detentions."

"What did you do to deserve three detentions?"

"The first one was because I was late, which I can understand. The second one was because I forgot my uniform, I guess."

"What about the third?"

"Maybe I breathed wrong or something. I don't know. Snape thought I was being disrespectful," Potter explained.

"Were you?"

"I wasn't trying to, Remus, I really wasn't, but you should've heard the way this man was talking to me. A soon as he heard my name-"

"Oh, I think I see what this is about," Lupin interrupted.

"You do?" Potter asked, voicing Draco's thoughts as well as his own.

"Don't worry about it, Harry. I'll talk to him about it. I don't think I'll be able to get you out of your detentions, though."

"I wasn't expecting you to. I was just wondering if I could spend them with you," Potter requested.

Draco's brow shot up in surprise. He had thought the boy would've surely tried to get out of them. He was right next to the door now, peeking through the small glass window now that there was no one left in the hallway to see him.

"Oh, okay. I'll see what I can do, then," Lupin said simply, like it was no big deal.

Potter jumped up from the chair. "Really? Thanks a lot, Rem," Potter said, using another nickname Draco hadn't heard before and giving the man a hug, which was returned with a familiar ease.

"Anything for my most beloved student," Lupin said, smiling and planting a kiss on the crown of the boys head.

Again, Draco's eyes were narrowed in suspicion. He'd seen Potter's godfather do that the day before, but it was his _godfather_. It didn't really make sense to him to see Lupin do that unless... Well.

Potter laughed. "Love you, too, Remus."

"And don't worry, I don't plan on telling Sirius," Lupin said, pulling away. Draco had to force himself to think that Lupin was talking about Potter's detentions.

"Thanks," Potter said. "I'll see you tonight, right? At your place?"

Lupin smiled. "We'll get take-out."

That was the last thing Draco heard before he left, heading to his next class. He knew he was going to be late, but that didn't seem to matter at the moment. His mind was stuck on Potter and what he'd just heard.

Draco was confused. It wasn't his business, so why did he care? A year ago, he knew he probably would have spread his assumptions around the school, for the attention, sure, but mostly because Potter had him terribly confused. He didn't understand why he kept jumping to conclusions about the raven-haired boy. Assuming Potter was with his godfather at first and now Lupin? Eavesdropping on the boys conversation? He sounded like a jealous girlfriend and it was quickly becoming frustrating beyond compare.

The day passed with Potter in the back of his mind. He went to the rest of his classes, his debate team meeting, and the library, and by the time he was finished with everything he had to do, it was already half past four. He decided to make a visit to Snape's office, where Draco knew he was, and try to find out a little more about Potter and Professor Lupin and what Severus had against them.

"How did I know I'd be seeing you again today?" Severus asked as soon as he entered the room.

"ESP?" Draco suggested, throwing his bag onto the small sofa then laying back on it, getting comfortable.

Severus sighed. "What do you want, Draco?"

"Can't I visit my own godfather with getting interrogated?"

"Not when you act that innocent, no," Snape answered distractedly, flipping through the large book on his desk.

"Fine. I want to know what's wrong with Professor Lupin," Draco announced, getting straight to the point, but leaving Potter out of the equation for the moment.

"I don't know what you mean," Severus replied, sounding perfectly honest.

"Does it have something to do with Potter?"

Snape looked up at that, dropping his pen, and it didn't escape Draco's notice. "What makes you say that?"

"You hate Lupin and you hate Potter. It was just a guess. But, does it?"

Snape stared at him for another moment before answering. "Not really, no. Or at least not _Harry_ Potter," he answered.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked, interested.

"Let's just say that his father and I didn't get along very well and leave it at that."

"But what does that have to do with Lupin?" Draco asked, confused.

"Now who's being interrogated?"

"Fine, fine. Just one more question," Draco said, then continued after receiving a grunt. "...How close are Potter and Lupin?" he asked, and for some reason he really couldn't understand, it was what he wanted to know above all else.

Snape looked up again, a somewhat speculative expression on his face at the oddness of that question and how uncharacteristically hesitant Draco had asked it. "From that display they made at the feast last night, I'd have to say very. Why?"

Draco took a breath, laying his head back on the armrest. "He's my roommate."

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**Authors Note:**Ha, does anybody else get the feeling that Draco's going to be the jealous type? And that whole tongue ring thing wasn't pointless, I do have something planned for it. Want to guess what piercing he wanted? I want to know what you guys think, though. How did you like Snapes character? Should he show up more often? Remember, everything you guys say effects this story in some way. That being said, REVIEW!!


	6. Honesty

**Rating:** It isn't now, but it'll be M eventually.

**Warning: **Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness. Future drug use.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the series. Nor any of the songs mentioned in this chapter.

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**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Six**

**Honesty**

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Harry was used to public school. He was used to having to wake up early, get dressed, catch the bus, or walk if he happened missed it. Some of the time, he was there before the first bell rang. You would think that actually _living_ at the school would make it a bit easier to get to class on time, but no, it really wasn't. As stated before, Harry was used to public school. That was the only reason he could come up with to explain why he'd royally fucked up his first day at Hogwarts Academy.

In the early hours of the morning, around the time that only the elderly should enjoy being conscious, Harry woke up in a cold sweat. Once again, he had relived the night that happened a little over a year ago. He often had nightmares of that night, but it was at times like these, when they caused him to be late and... damp, that made him wish he wasn't so messed up in the head because of what had happened.

He'd woken up late, after having spent hours trying to get back to sleep, and discovered the room completely devoid of human life aside from himself. Crashing into and cursing out everything in his path, he'd managed his way into the shower and got dressed, completely forgetting his uniform, as quickly as he could. He also managed to almost poke his eye out when he was putting his contacts in, fall twice while trying to get his things together with a toothbrush in his mouth and a towel hanging precariously from his head, and run into four people in the hallway trying to get to Chemistry. Needless to say, Harry hadn't had a very good morning.

Once he got to his first class, it only got worse. He got his first look at his Chemistry teacher, Professor Snape. Now, the man looked pretty scary to begin with, but when he opened his mouth, he proved just how scary he could be. Every word he spoke was wrapped in rusted barbwire. Harry tried to be as well-behaved as possible, but he gave up on that plan when Snape started to insult his name.

Living with the Dursley's for most of his life, Harry was very used to insults, but there was absolutely no way in hell Harry was going to let some greasy bastard he didn't even know talk shit about his parents, no matter how scary the man seemed. Even the Dursley's knew where the line was and Harry wanted to make sure Snape knew it, too. He received three detentions for it, but he figured standing up for his family was worth it. If he hadn't been so angry at the time, he might've noticed who he'd sat next to, but it wasn't until he stood up to leave that he noticed Draco, who he noticed didn't get up to leave when everyone else did, but stayed seated.

And it wasn't until after he'd stepped out of the room and into the hallway that he noticed Ron, Seamus, Dean and Hermoine. They were among the small crowd of students to wait in the hall for him to give him a pat on the back and introduce themselves, congradulating him on a job well done. Hermoine gave him a lecture about how getting that many detentions had to have some effect on his grades, but even she looked mildly impressed with him.

He had thought that he was getting an unhealthy amount of attention the day before, but now, it seemed as though his 'fanbase', as Remus had called it, had tripled during the expanse of one class. Harry couldn't believe it. He'd just got three detentions and they congratulate him?! What was _wrong_ with this school?

No matter how moronic he thought it was, Harry went along with it for a while. When lunch came around, everyone gathered around Harry's table. He got to meet Neville Longbottom, who was just honored to meet him, and many other students whose names he couldn't remember.

Harry was starving, having missed breakfast, so Ron took it upon himself to tell everyone what happened. Bragging as Harry stuffed his face, embellishing a bit in some places to make it seem more interesting, but mostly, Harry found it pretty entertaining. Ron made it seem like he'd conquered a dragon or something. When he'd said this, Seamus had told him that that was pretty much exactly what he'd done.

His fun disappeared completely when the editor of the school newspaper and yearbook, Colin Creevey, started flashing this huge, out-dated camera in his face, making him he spots and requesting an interview with him. He turned it down, of course, if only for the fact that it was the strangest thing he'd ever heard, but he tried to be nice about it, even though he thought the idea was absolutely ridiculous.

Once he'd made it to English Lit, Harry was getting pretty tired of hearing the story over and over. Now, Ron was telling Blaise, who apparently hadn't heard yet, having been busy and missed lunch, and laughing about it with the redhead and Seamus.

When that class was over, Harry stayed after, wanting to ask Remus if it was okay to spend his detentions with him and tell him about what happened. That was when he saw Draco again. The boy had dropped his bag, causing everything to spill out onto the floor.

Harry hesitated to help him, remembering how rude the boy was to him the day before, but he guessed he just wasn't the type to hold a grudge, because soon, he was picking the boys notebooks up off the floor. They didn't speak, and Draco's face was almost completely blank, but Harry could tell how confused he was by the look reflected in those stormy, gray-blue eyes.

When Draco left the room, Harry told Remus what had happened in Chemistry and asked his favor. Remus agreed immediately and they made plans for Harry to come to his apartment later that day and get some take-out.

After Remus wrote him a quick excuse for why he was late to his next class, Harry left and as he stepped out into the hallway, he saw a blond head of hair turning a corner. At first, he thought it was Draco, because not many students had hair that blonde, but then dismissed the idea. After all, there was no reason Draco would still be in the now empty hallway, right?

The day went by slowly, packing more homework onto Harry's shoulders than he was used to and pats on the back from people he didn't know. So eager to get another ride on his bike and gorge on take-out Chinese food with his two favorite people, his classes seemed to be going by in slow motion.

After what seemed like hours of watching the clock, waiting for the school day to be over and done with, it finally was. And while most students were collecting their books and working on their homework in the library, the only thing Harry wanted to get a hold of was his keys and helmet. He didn't plan on going straight to the apartment. Of course not, if he was going to be living here for a year, then he wanted to get a good look at the town first.

Stopping by his dorm-room to get his things, he wanted to tell his roommates where he was headed. Normally, he wouldn't have bothered, but trouble always had a funny way of finding him at the worst possible times, so he figured it a wise precaution. However, when he arrived, he found the room as empty as it was that morning.

"Hello, Harry."

He turned, helmet in hand, to see Hermione going up the stairs to the girls dorm, cradling a stack of books.

"Oh. Hi, Hermione. Have you seen Ron or the others anywhere?" he asked, figuring she might know, being Ron's girlfriend.

"Knowing them, their probably ignoring their homework in favor of playing mind-numbing video games in the rec room," she said disapprovingly.

Harry repressed the urge to smirk. He'd only met the girl the day before, but he was quickly coming to find that this was a typical Hermione answer.

"Thanks," he said, walking back down the hall. Then he stopped, remembering that he had no idea where the rec room was. He turned back, finding Hermione still leaning on the banister as she'd been before. "And, um, where is that?" Harry asked.

Hermione laughed, pointing a finger up at the sign above his head that read 'REC ROOM' in bold, capital letters beside a big arrow pointing down the hall. Harry looked up, feeling his face heat a bit as he read the sign.

Harry cleared his throat, giving Hermione an embarrassed smile. "Oh. Er, right. Thanks," he said, running a hand through his hair for what seemed like the millionth time that day.

"No problem, Harry," she laughed, continuing her way up the stairs.

When Harry found the rec room, he had to admit that it was pretty impressive. It was a least three times the size of the dorm room and had a decently sized television in each corner, along with books, computers, and even an arcade-like setup. Harry could see why Hermione thought his dorm-mates spent a lot of time in this place. Even through he didn't get a very good look at any of the games, movies, or pretty much anything else in the room, Harry could tell there was a lot of things to keep anyone from getting bored.

There were small crowds of people there, but not very many, as most students did there homework before having fun. Among them was Ron, Seamus, and Dean, seated in the far left corner. Dean was the only one actually on the couch, his head burried in a hard-back book. Ron and Seamus was below him, leaning back against the front of the couch. Just as Hermione had predicted, they were busy playing a video game.

"Hiya, Harry!" Seamus greeted cheerfully from the floor next to Ron, waving to him as he saw him in the doorway.

Ron glanced up distractedly. "Hey, Harry. Wanna play winner?"

"Actually, I just stopped by to tell you guys that I'm leaving," he said, sitting on the armrest of the sofa.

"Where you goin'?" Seamus asked, curious.

Harry shrugged. "Just around to see the city. Then I'm just gonna hang out Sirius and Remus at his place."

"Merlin's a pretty boring city, Harry. It might be big, but there's not much to do. And isn't it against the rules to leave Hogwarts during the school week?" Ron asked.

"Not if you sign out in the main office, which I'm guessing you haven't," Dean smirked, eyes still fixed on the book in his hands.

"Oh. Well, I'll be back later on tonight. It'll be fine," he assured them.

"Just try not to get in any trouble, Harry. You already have three detentions as it is. I don't think you want more," Ron said.

Harry got up and stretched. "Don't worry, I'll be back before anyone even knows I'm gone."

As it turned out, Ron was right; even though it was bigger than he thought it would be, Merlin really was pretty boring, as far as he could tell. It was different then most of the places he was used to frecuenting, clean and respectful. Harry figured he probably should've asked someone to come along who knew their way around. The only thing Harry found interesting about the city was the recording studio that Sirius told him he was recording at and the sandy white beaches. And the mall, of course, which had an impressive record store. Aside from that though, Harry got bored of sight-seeing after an hour or two and just rode around for a while, breaking in his new Harley. It was already getting dark by the time he knocked on the door of apartment fifteen.

"Where have you been, Harry? We thought you'd be here hours ago," Remus told him as soon as he opened the door, leading him inside by the shoulder and shutting the door behind him.

"Well, I thought I'd see the city a bit," he answered, looking around the apartment, spotting Sirius coming out of the kitchenette.

"Have fun?" Sirius asked, flashing his pearly-white canines as he smirked. He knew what Merlin had to offer and it wasn't very exciting to say the least. At least not in the main part of town and when the sun was up.

Harry gave him 'yeah right' look. "Not much, no. Hey, this is a nice place, Remus," he complimented. He wasn't just saying that, either; it really was nice. Everything was sleek and color coordinated, mostly red, white and black. It wasn't very big, but it was bigger than most apartments. It had spotless, plain beige carpeting and all of the furniture looked brand new.

"Remus? _I_ did most of the decorating, I'll have you know" Sirius informed pompously, chin high and his hands on his hips.

"Yeah, I can tell by the Italian leather couch and giant lava lamp," Harry told him, making Remus laugh a how true that was.

"Hey! Lava lamps are timeless," Sirius informed him, heading into the kitchen. "I'm calling the Chinese place now, Harry, so what do you want? The usual?"

"Yeah," Harry answered, taking a seat on the admittedly comfortable sectional sofa and throwing his keys on the coffee table. Remus fell into the sofa beside him and that was when Harry saw something that made up for his awful morning entirely.

A bite mark. Or more specifically, an angry red love bite that was graced upon the neck of one, Remus Lupin, peeking out from underneath his turtleneck that, Harry was guessing, he was wearing for the very purpose of concealing it. Harry could even make out the teeth marks, which indicated just how new they were, and showing that whoever made the mark, must have had some sharp canines.

"Remmy? The usual?" Sirius called from the kitchen.

"Please," Remus answered. "Something wrong, Harry?" Remus asked, noticing Harry's line of sight and inconspicuously covering the mark once more.

"Er, no. But it's a bit early to be wearing a turtleneck, don't you think?"

"Oh. Well, I thought it was a bit chilly in here," Remus claimed, then proceeded to change the subject. "Well, how about I show you around a bit?"

Harry was way too happy to be angry that Remus had just lied straight to his face. He'd been waiting most of his life for those two to get together! Plus, he figured that they were planning to tell him tonight, on their own time and when they were all together in the same room.

He decided to ignore it for the time being, continuing on with the rest of the night as normal, as if he didn't know, but now that he did, he started to notice all the little things about the two he hadn't noticed before. Like how close they sat next to each other, how Sirius would go out of his way to make Remus smile by saying and doing the silliest things, and the way they touched each other just a little longer than necessary, and the way their faces seemed to brighten when the other was close. The way they looked at each other.

Harry had never noticed these things before because his godfather and Remus had _always _acted that way when they were together. He considered it normal behavior because nothing had ever really changed. This only proved to Harry that they really were made for each other, like he had always known they were, but only until now had they finally realized it. Harry really couldn't have been happier for them and he couldn't wait for them to announce it so he could tell them that he already knew.

But as the night went by, no such announcement was made. Hogwarts curfew came and passed as they lost track of the time, and still, they didn't say anything of the sort. Even as he was leaving, walking out the door when they finally saw how late it was, they didn't tell him.

"Oh, Harry. I forgot to tell you," Sirius stopped him as he was walking to his bike. He turned, hoping that he would tell him what he wanted to hear, that Remus and him were a couple, but knowing that he wouldn't.

"Flich would be patrolling the halls around this time of night, so try not to get caught, okay? You don't need any detentions on your first day."

"I'm sorry, Harry. I really shouldn't have kept you out this long," Remus told him.

"It's okay, Rem. Don't worry about it. I won't get caught," he assured them, hiding his disappointment.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Harry." And with that, Remus shut the door.

By the time Harry arrived back at Hogwarts, it was already half passed nine. He passed the gate, parking as far away from the school as possible, leaving his helmet on his bike, and hurried around to the back of the entrance building. When he got there, he turned, heading to the main building instead. He figured the kitchens might have some comfort food. He wasn't really hungry, which was strange since everyone was usually hungry again an hour after eating Chinese food, but he just felt like having a little alone time.

Aside from everything being so dark, getting around the school was a lot easier than he'd thought it would be, the whole place was practically deserted. And the kitchens weren't even locked! Not even bothering with turning on any lights or heating anything up, Harry found an economy-sized box of mini chocolate chip cookies and got a handful. Ignoring the perfectly suitable tables, he climbed up to take a seat on one of the many counter-tops in front of a window and his thoughts soon drifted back to Remus and his godfather.

There was no doubt in his mind that they were together now. When he was back at the apartment, he'd taken a peek at the guest room, where Sirius was suppose to be sleeping, and it looked like it hadn't had any life in it since the day it'd been decorated, which meant that Sirius had been sleeping with Remus, or at least in the same bed, for a while. When Remus had given him the mini-tour, he'd bypassed that room with nothing more than a 'that's just the guest room'. He couldn't believe they'd been keeping something so important from him.

Harry had always considered them family. And having grown up with no parents, family was unbelievably important to him. And what pissed him off more than anything; he couldn't find one good reason for them to keep this from him. They _knew_ he'd be happy for them.

Just when he was starting to get into a serious brood (and get some more mini cookies), the kitchen door creaked open. He was in the darkest corner, but that wouldn't help at all if whoever-it-was turned the lights on. He froze completely, not even daring to breath lest he get caught, but luckily, whoever-it-was didn't turn the lights on, but instead went over the the fridge, opening it. The moonlight coming from the window beside him wasn't enough to show who it was, but the second the fridge light lit up the persons face, Harry's eyes widened even further.

--

After Draco had gotten back from Snape's office, he let Blaise convince him to watch a movie with him, the rest of their roommates and the Weasel's little sister. The movie was crap, which was expected with Hogwarts somewhat limited collection, but surprisingly, there was little confrontation.

Blaise had even forced him to sit with them at dinner, which caused a lot of strange looks to be turned in their direction, especially in Snape's case, but aside from a few squabbles with the Weasel, everything was pretty mellow. And better yet, once Pansy spotted who he was sitting with, namely Weasley, she didn't even approach him. Sure, she tried to wave him over from where she sat, pouting and whining, but he ignored her easily.

He knew that she might complain to her mother and her mother might tell her father and her father might say something to his father, but he figured it was well worth it. His father would be disappointed, but he knew his mother would be proud.

Draco had even been in a pretty good mood until a while later, when he'd just gotten out of the shower and everyone started freaking out at curfew over Potter's absence.

"He said he'd be here," Weasley said a bit worriedly.

"Yeah, but he never did say when. What if something happened to him? He was on his bike, right? He could've crashed! Maybe we should tell someone that he's missing," Finnigan said, over-exaggerating. Draco rolled his eyes at his desk.

"Calm down, Lucky Charms! Harry told me that he's been driving motorcycles for years, he's not dead," Blaise told him. Draco cocked an eyebrow, wondering when he'd been talking to Potter.

"Well, what do we do? McGonnagal will be here any minute for curfew," Thomas pointed out, making Finnigan sit down on the couch next to him.

Since McGonnagal's room was across the hall, she checked their room last. It was already thirty minutes after curfew, so in truth, she probably should've already been there.

"Why are you all even worried about it? If he gets caught, then that's his problem," Draco said harshly, causing everyone, even Blaise, to narrow their eyes at him.

"Listen here, you twitchy little Ferret. Unlike you, Harry's our friend. We're not just gonna stand by and watch him get in trouble," Weasley glared.

"You mean like you did in Chemistry?" Draco shot back sarcastically.

Ron balked. "That was completely different!"

"Shut up, the both of you!" Thomas interjected. "Ron, your right, we can't let him get caught. Now when McGonnagal gets here-"

He was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Finnigan jumped off the couch. "Shit! She's here! what do we do? What do we do!?"

"God, you guys," Blaise sighed, exasperated. He calmly walked over to Potter's bed and closed its curtains, shutting off most of the lights as he went back to the couch and sat back down. "Now, open the door," he instructed.

Finnigan went to do so, but his boyfriend smartly held him back, knowing that he would probably say something to ruin it. The Weasel got the door instead, opening it just as McGonnagal went to knock again.

"Hello, boys. Still awake?" she asked, checking off their names on her clipboard.

"Just finishing some last minute homework," Thomas said, not lying since that really was what he'd been doing.

She looked around the room, her eyes stopping at Potter's bed. "And where is Mr Potter?"

"Oh, he turned in early," Weasley claimed, surprising Draco at how believable it sounded.

She gave the redhead a hard look, but when he didn't buckle, she turned it to Draco, figuring he'd be the least likely to lie for Potter. "Is that right?"

Draco hesitated, but not enough for her to pick up on. "Yes, Professor," he lied flawlessly.

She didn't say anything for a second, but then decided to trust them and checked off Potter's name. "Hm. Goodnight boys," she said, leaving.

"Goodnight, Professor," everyone chorused aside from Draco, who said nothing.

As soon as Weasley shut the door, all of their eyes zeroed in on Draco, incredulous that he just lied for Potter. Blaise was wearing a proud little smirk, which took no more than a second to start irritating him.

He didn't say anything, but Draco himself couldn't believe he'd just done that. Wasn't he the one who had been saying that it was Potters own problem if he got caught? What the hell happened to _that_?

"Wow. Thanks, Malfoy. I think I might've misjudged you," Finnigan said.

Thomas nodded. "Yeah, that was pretty cool of you," he added.

"Wait. I'm confused," Weasley declared.

"What a surprise that is," Draco said sarcastically, and he was surprised when Finnigan actually laughed at his unintentional joke.

Weasley ignored him. "Wasn't it you that _just_ said it was Harry's problem if he got caught? Or was that just my imagination?"

"Your imagination," he answered easily, taking his already opened pack of cigarettes out from his desk, along with a lighter.

Usually, he never went out for a cigarette after curfew unless he really needed one. He didn't need one now, but he wanted to get away. It was weird. He did one nice thing, and everyone was acting like they actually liked him now. Aside from the Weasel, of course, but Weasley wouldn't like him if he solved world hunger, so it was expected.

"I didn't think you'd cover for anyone like that," Thomas commented.

Blaise laughed. "He wouldn't have, if it wasn't for _Potter_," he teased, grinning at Draco like Christmas had come early.

Finnigan and Thomas laughed out loud at that, but Weasley looked disturbed at the very idea, making them laugh harder.

Draco held back a blush and glared at Blaise. "That is exactly why I never do anything nice for people," he said, walking to the door.

"Oh, Malfoy. It was just a joke," Seamus said.

"Whatever," he said, tucking his hair back behind his ear, then glaring at it as it fell back.

"Where are you going?" Blaise asked.

"For a smoke," he answered, shutting the door behind him.

Draco knew that Blaise had just been teasing, but it was the truth; he probably wouldn't have covered for anybody else.

--

Harry had been expecting Flich, or a teacher, or someone who actually worked at the school. He definitely wasn't expecting to see Draco Malfoy. He didn't bother making his presence known, so relieved he wasn't caught, but that was proven to be a mistake when Draco turned around. He could only imagine what he looked like; a shadowy figure perched up on a counter-top late at night, silent and watching him. Harry really didn't blame the boy for screaming.

"Ah!" Draco jumped back, dropping his food on the floor in the process.

"Hey, it's okay! It's only me," Harry told him, jumping down from the counter and holding his hands out in front of him in a 'drop your weapon' type pose.

"Potter?" Draco asked, straining his eyes to get a better look at him in the dark. "Why do you _always_ have to sneak up on me?" he asked rhetorically, suddenly angry.

"I'm sorry! I thought you were Flich," he explained.

"Do you always hide out in dark places at night to sneak up on Flich?"

"I wasn't-"

Draco groaned. "Christ, Potter. It's called _sarcasm_. What are you even doing here?"

Harry sighed, finally dropping his hands. "I could ask you the same thing."

Draco considered it for a moment. "I asked you first," he finally said, crossing his arms stubbornly.

Harry chuckled, Draco's childishness seeming to lighten his mood a bit. "Fine. I just wanted a little snack before going back to bed," he lied, unsure if Draco would tell on him for being out after curfew.

Draco let out a bark-like laugh. "_Back_ to bed? Did you forget the fact that I _live _with you? I know for a fact that you haven't been within a mile's radius of this school for hours, ...much less your bed," he told him, grumbling that last part. Draco didn't know if he was lying or not because, for all he knew, Potter really might've been in a bed. Just not _his_ bed.

Harry caught his eye, suddenly suspicious. "How?"

"I live with you, Potter! I _just_ told you-"

"No," he interrupted. "How did you know that I wasn't in the school?"

A look of realization crossed Draco's face, but Harry only got to see it for a second before he looked away. "Lucky guess," he answered, leaning down to pick up the food he'd dropped as a distraction.

Harry was used to being told lies, thanks to a certain person, and now, though he himself wasn't a very good liar, he could always tell when someone was lying right off the bat. Draco was good, but as soon as he broke eye contact, Harry knew he was lying. He brushed it off though, helping Draco clean up the mess he'd helped make.

"Well?" Harry asked when they were finished, breaking the silence.

"Well, what?"

"You never told me what you were doing here," Harry told him, hopping back up on the counter.

"The door was left open. I'm guessing that was you?"

"Er, yeah. It was," he said, a little embarrassed at leaving such an obvious sign.

"I would ask how you got in here, but that would be a stupid question. Someone like you probably knows how to pick locks anyway," Draco said, unable to help himself, but mostly because he wasn't sure how he should act around Potter.

"Hey! I didn't pick that lock," Harry told him, offended.

"So you're not denying that you do know how to pick locks?" he asked, smirking. Harry looked away at that and he laughed cruelly. "I knew it."

Harry's eyes seemed to glow in the dark as they snapped to the other boy and he gripped the edge of the counter-top. "You know shit about me," he informed coldly. He immediately looked down and sighed, ashamed. "Sorry. Sensitive subject, I guess," he mumbled.

"No kidding," Draco commented, admittedly a lot softer than before the other boys outbreak.

There was an uncomfortable silence for a while after that aside from Harry munching on some more mini cookies. Draco didn't make a sound as he prepared whatever it was that he was eating and sat down at one of the picnic-styled tables.

"You still haven't told me why you're here," Harry said, breaking the silence.

Draco looked up at him incredulously, then motioned to his food. "You really don't have any brain at all, do you?"

"Tone down the sarcasm, Draco. You told me that you found the doors opened, but you never actually said why you left the dorms in the first place. Or how you got through the entrance building when the doors were locked," he specified, then noticed that Draco was staring at him weirdly. "What?" Harry asked, confused at the look.

Very few people at Hogwarts, not even Blaise, had ever called Draco by his first name. He called almost everyone by their last names and they did the same to him. For someone he'd just met the day before to call him 'Draco' so casually was a little shocking to him.

"...Nothing," he claimed, then cleared his throat. "I was a perfect last year, and since your new, I'll assume you have no idea what that is. A perfect is someone who Dumbledore chooses to lock the doors and patrol the halls at curfew. I made a copy of the key before I had to give it back last year. Dumbledore is _way_ too trusting," he smirked to himself. "I went out to have a cigarette and, just as I said before, the door was open."

Harry laughed. "You smoke?" He couldn't picture Draco as a smoker, not at all.

"Probably not what _you_ smoke, but yes. At least I didn't make up some lame excuse like _someone_ did," Draco said pointedly.

Harry sighed. "I was at a friends house and lost track of the time. I needed some time to think about some stuff, so I came here and got a snack," he said, this time being honest. "And for your information, I didn't pick the lock. I happen to have a key," he added.

"Oh, really. Did _Moony_ give it to you?" Draco grumbled.

"What?"

"I asked you how you got a key," he lied.

"Oh, er. I stole it?" It would've been semi-believable if it hadn't came out as more of a question.

Draco rolled his eyes at the obvious lie, but didn't call him on it.

There was another silence, this one a lot more comfortable than the last, while Draco finished his food. Harry drifted off into space, back to thinking about Remus and his godfather, the thought of leaving before Draco not occuring to him.

"Hey, Draco," Harry started. "Has someone you loved ever done something important that concerned you, ...but not tell you about it?" he asked, slipping his hands into his pockets and noting that the question sounded just as stupid out loud as it did in his head.

Draco looked at him strangely, wondering where that question had come from. Then he thought about what his mother had done the day before.

"My mother, actually," Draco answered quietly after a moment. He had absolutely no idea why he decided to answer honestly.

Harry looked at him, remembering what Blaise had told him the night before. "Really? Did it piss you off?"

Draco nodded. "Definitely. But she thought she was doing the right thing at the time," he said.

"And was she?" Harry asked quietly after a moment.

Draco had to think about that. He wanted to say no, but he knew that wasn't true. Was she doing the right thing by making him live in the dorms?

"I don't know yet," Draco finally answered. It was strange talking to Potter so civilly after what happened the day before, strange that it came so easily.

Draco sighed, figuring he should probably get it over with. "Listen, about yesterday..."

Harry immediately knew what this was about. "Yes?" He grinned, distracting the blond.

"I was just in a bad mood. I didn't mean to-Well, I did, but-"

"You're not very good at apologizing are you?"

Draco groaned. "I wouldn't know. I've never had to do it before. Maybe it would help if you didn't keep interrupting me," Draco told him, annoyed.

"Sorry," Harry said, not sounding the least bit sorry.

"I shouldn't have snapped at you, but I was having a really bad day. I suppose what I mean is, I guess-"

"Wow, you really do suck at apologizing," Harry interrupted again, smiling.

"Potter!"

"I forgive you," Harry laughed, jumping down from the counter and sitting on the other side of Draco. He held his hand out to the blond, elbow resting on the table between them. "Harry Potter," he introduced, flashing that same charming grin Draco had seen before.

Draco had to keep himself from smiling back at him. He looked down at the proffered hand for a moment, knowing that this couldn't possibly end well, before deciding to play along anyway.

"Draco Malfoy," he finally said, tentatively putting his hand in the other boys. Unbidden, a verse suddenly popped into his head, making him pause for no more than a millisecond.

'_He that hath the steerage of my course, direct my sail'_

Draco couldn't place it at that moment, so he pushed it aside without a second thought, turning his attention back to Potter.

Harry shook his hand wildly, making Draco's body shake as well. He knew that this was something Sirius probably would've done, but that really didn't seem to matter to him when the action finally managed to get a tiny, amused smile out of the blond boy because of it.

"Nice to meet you, Draco."

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**Authors Note:** Okay, so I asked you guys last chapter what you thought Draco wanted to get pierced, and it amused me to no end that almost everyone said his dick. Wow, are my readers really that perverted?

It was stated in the last chapter that Draco had met a model when he was thirteen that had a piercing and that he wanted one. Do you guys really think that model had a dick ring and showed it to him? When he was thirteen? And that he would ask his mother for one? Come on.

Anyway, a lot of dialog in this chapter. Everything is really just getting started, so bare with me if you think it's going kinda slow. I just don't want to rush into things, ya know?

Can anyone guess where the verse is from? It's ridiculously easy, I'll be surprised if anyone can't guess.

The reviews I received for chapter five were awesome. I love hearing what you guys have to say, whether it be positive or negative. I want you to tell me what you guys like and even what you don't. Like I said before, everything you guys say makes a difference, and if nothing else, it makes me update faster. I finished this chapter on Tuesday after reading all of the reviews for the last chapter. Reviews really do motivate me.

That being said, REVIEW!!


	7. Seven Weeks

**Rating:** It isn't now, but it'll be M eventually.

**Warning: **Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness. Future drug use.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the series. Nor any of the songs mentioned in this chapter.

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**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Seven**

**Seven Weeks**

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Draco was sitting in the cafeteria at lunch, carefully picking the tomato out of his grilled chicken salad. He was surrounded by a ridiculous amount of artfully placed cobwebs, orange and black steamers, and poorly carved pumpkins sitting upon the surface of every table. Draco was no expert when it came to Halloween decorations, but he was pretty sure that pumpkins were supposed to have scary faces carved into them. However, the one Draco was glaring at couldn't be interpreted as a face by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, it was a perfect carving of a hand flipping him the bird. Seemed like the first years went a little overboard this Halloween.

"Am I gonna have to separate the two of you?"

Draco turned his glare from the offending pumpkin to the grinning face of the speaker, Potter, who had just sat down across from him. In response, he turned the pumpkin around to face the other boy, making him laugh at what was carved there.

Almost seven weeks had passed since the incident in the kitchens, yet Draco felt as if it'd only been a week or so. Halloween was only a week away now and Hogwarts had enough tacky decoration to prove it. Students were already starting to get excited about it. Not necessarily about Halloween, but about the events that would take place on that night.

Being a boarding school, Hogwarts couldn't exactly allow it's students to go to any parties or haunted houses or, God forbid, go 'trick or treating' in the city of Merlin. So to make up for this fact, Dumbledore arranged for a talent show to be held on that night. He usually went all out for this event, even inviting parents and faculty to watch the performances. Since the students couldn't trust the teachers taste in music, everybody was allowed to vote for the best act. Even the students in the private building couldn't help but get even a little cheerful this time of year.

Even though it was suppose to be something for the students to look forward to, Draco couldn't bring himself to feel any of the excitment that his schoolmates were feeling. It only served to remind him of how soon he would be leaving dorm room number sixty-six.

About seven weeks ago, it couldn't have happened sooner, he'd been looking forward to it, leaving the dormitories and moving back into a private room, but now, he wasn't sure how to feel about it. Something had changed since that first day of school, that night in the kitchens. He just wasn't sure what exactly.

Draco came out of his thoughts when a hand snatched one of the uneaten cherry tomatoes from his plate. He looked up, seeing Potter give him a little grin before popping the ranch-covered fruit into his mouth. Draco knew the raven only did it to get his attention, but he made a disgusted face at the action nevertheless, which only made Potter laugh.

"What? It's not like you were gonna eat it," Potter justified, moving his bag over so Weasley could take the seat beside him.

That was another thing. His roommates had become increasingly comfortable around him, which was surprising to say the least. Most of the time, they even ate their meals together. Potter always took every opportunity to be around him, and Draco couldn't say that he wasn't just a bit happy about that. And since the night he'd lied to Professor McGonnagal about Potters whereabouts, his other roommates seemed like were actually starting to trust him, like him even.

The same could not be said, however, about the students residing in the private building. Everyday he was seen with Potter and his other roommates, he would receive strange, questioning looks from his former 'friends', looks that conveyed their sense of betrayal and wonderment at why Draco Malfoy of all people was slumming. Almost none of them dared to approach him about it, for which he was glad, but it was a little strange to see Crabbe and Goyle following Pansy around now that he'd stepped out of the spotlight.

"Hey, Malfoy. There goes your girlfriend," Weasley informed him, looking toward the entrance while opening packet after packet of ketchup to pour over his fries. It was starting to look more like soup now, though.

Draco didn't bother looking up, already knowing who the redhead was talking about and not wanting to catch her attention.

"Last year she was practically glued to your side," Finnigan commented, then turned to Draco. "So, Malfoy, tell us, did Malkinson split?" he questioned, doing an impression of a reporter as he held out an imaginary microphone.

Everyone looked up at the Irishman with a strange expression, though really, they should all be well used to Finnigans randomness by now. "Malkinson?" Potter finally asked, voicing everyone's question.

"Yeah, you know... Malfoy plus Parkinson equals Malkinson," Finnigan explained, like it was something they should already know.

"Looks like someones been reading too many teen magazines," Draco commented, earning a chuckle from Potter.

Draco knew that Pansy hadn't given up on him yet, not by a long-shot, but he also knew that there was no way she would let herself be seen with anyone from the dorm building, excluding himself of course, and anytime she saw him alone, she wouldn't hesitate to start interrogating him. He tried to avoid her as much as possible, and Potter, though he never said anything about it, seemed to pick up on this fact because Draco could think of more than a few instances that Potter saved him from her incessant questioning by simply showing up at the right time. Draco could only be grateful that the girl's reputation meant more to her than he did.

Finnigan scoffed. "Why read teen magazines when we have TDP?"

Potter looked up at him, curious. "What's that?" he asked.

"The Daily Profit. It's a gossip website about celebrities and their children. Nothing but defamational slander," Blaise explained, shaking his head disapprovingly.

"That's exactly why he loves it," Thomas said, making Finnigan nod and grin in agreement.

"He would," Draco scoffed.

"You're just mad 'cause they write about you and you're parents all the time," Weasley smirked.

Potter looked at him questioningly, but Draco ignored him, glaring at the redhead instead. He couldn't argue, though. That website had done nothing but spread rumors about his family. One reporter, Rita Skeeter, had written an article about his father having an affair with his assistant. She even claimed to have some incriminating pictures of them together, but a day after they showed up on the website, they mysteriously disappeared. Or so they claimed. Some of what they wrote was the truth, but most of it was just bullshit written for shock value. For this very reason, Draco never trusted a word they said unless they had indisputable evidence.

"Hello, boys," Granger greeted, sitting down next to her redheaded boyfriend. She must've remembered something because she snapped her fingers and looked over to Potter. "Hey, Harry. I heard your godfather had a show somewhere in Merlin this weekend," she told him, catching everyones interest.

Potter looked up from his food and nodded, swallowing before he spoke. "Yeah, It's downtown at Eighth & Rail. That's where I went last Friday, it's pretty cool. They usually wouldn't play in such a small place, but Peter, The Marauders' manager, owed the owner a favor."

"I heard about that place. Are you going?" Blaise asked, interested.

"I don't know. Probably," Potter answered flippantly. He was about to go back to his lunch when he noticed that they were all still staring at him. He smiled, picking up his fork and pretending to be nonchalant. "What? You guys wanna come?" he asked.

"Hell yeah, we want to come!" Finnigan exclaimed, jumping out of his seat and earning a reproachful glare from Snape and McGonnagal for his outburst. "But isn't Eighth & Rail, like, a bar?" he asked in a much quieter tone, sitting back down.

"Well, it _has_ a bar. So, yeah, they don't usually let you in if you're underage," Potter shrugged. "I'll talk to Sirius about it. Who all wants to come?"

"Us!" Finnigan beamed, raising Thomas' hand with his own.

"Count me in," Blaise grinned.

Potter looked at the redhead in expectance. Weasley shook his head sadly. "Sorry, Harry. Moine's making me go to some lame museum with her and her parents on Saturday," he grumbled.

Granger rolled her eyes at him. "I'm sure you'll survive, Ron," she said.

"Are you sure this isn't any trouble, Harry? We wont need fake ID's, will we?" Thomas asked, only half-serious.

"It's fine," Potter answered, waving it off. Then he looked at Draco. "What about you, Draco? You coming?"

Even though they really should've been used to it by now, everyone at their table glanced up at Potter calling Draco by his first name.

Weasley snorted, interrupting Draco, who was about to say no. "Malfoy? At a bar? Are you kidding?"

"And what's that suppose to mean, Weasel?" Draco asked, cold eyes narrowed.

"It means that you're to much of a priss and you're daddy would never let you," Weasley answered, shrugging. "You probably only listen to classical music anyway," he added.

"And what's wrong with classical music?" Granger asked her boyfriend, hands on her hips.

Weasley didn't look at her but held up his hands as if in surrender. "Nothing, nothing at all. All I'm trying to say is, it just isn't his _scene_. He is _not _going to want to go," he explained to them as if they where mentally handicapped five-year-olds.

Draco glared hatefully at the redhead. "Of _course_ I would," he said spitefully.

The bell sounded, telling the students that lunch was over. Everyone around them stood, but no one at their table did. They were all too busy staring at Draco, absolutely stunned.

"Great," Potter beamed at him, making Draco realize what he'd just agreed to.

"I-I would, but... I don't have a ride," Draco lied, cursing himself mentally for stuttering. It was a lie, of course, but even _he_ had to admit that the Weasel actually was at least partly right. A bar definitely wasn't his scene. Mostly because he'd never been to one before in his life.

"That's okay, you'll ride with me then," Potter smiled, standing.

Wondering if Potter knew that he really didn't want to go and just didn't care, Draco sighed. "Wonderful," he said dispassionately, standing as well.

--

The weekend came faster than Draco expected it to. Two days after he agreed to go and an hour and a half before the show, Draco was staring at his reflection in the mirror of the dorm room. Well, he wasn't staring so much as _glaring_ at it. Most of his roommates were hanging out in the rec room, leaving only Potter and himself in the dorm.

"You're not wearing that are you?" Potter laughed, coming up behind him and making eye-contact with him through the mirror. He was in his usual clothes, and Draco felt a bit indignant that someone who wore clothes either way too big or way too small would have something to say about what he chose to wear.

Draco raised a perfect eyebrow. "And what exactly is wrong with what I'm wearing, Potter? Do you have any idea how much this outfits costs?"

"Well..." he paused, stepping forward and pulling the label out from Draco's jacket. His fingers brushed Draco's neck, making him tense a bit at the contact and how close they were now. "Considering your mom made it, my guess would have to be _nothing_," Potter laughed, walking away.

Draco threw a glare over his shoulder. "Oh, and _you _have room to talk? Those jeans have more chains on them than a prison escapee. Try not to get near any magnets now," he said bitterly, over-exaggerating to the max. Really, the only chain he ever wore was connected to his wallet.

"Don't be jealous, Draco. With a little help, you could be just as sexy," Potter smirked sarcastically, opening a drawer. It took Draco a minute to realize that it was _his_ clothes the boy was going through.

"Potter!"

The raven-haired boy seemed to have found what he was looking for and closed the drawer. "Yeah?" he answered calmly, either ignoring or not noticing Draco's tone as he went over to his own clothes a selected something red from the bottom drawer. After closing it, he walked up to Draco and unbuttoned his jacket, slipping it off. Draco was too stunned to say anything for a moment.

"What are you-"

"Raise your arms," Potter instructed, then raised his shirt before Draco could protest to reveal a plain white wife-beater, which was taken off as well, leaving Draco topless. He threw it onto Draco's bed and lifted the shirt he'd picked out.

Draco snatched it out of his grasp, uncomfortable with feeling this naked in front of Potter. "I'm not your barbie doll, Potty. I think I can dress myself," he said, then looked down at what he was holding. The first thing Draco looked at was the label, revealing a name he'd never heard of before. It wasn't his size and he was sure it wouldn't fit him unless he was poured into it. He wondered why Potter had it, because if it wouldn't fit him then he knew that there was absolutely no way Potter could wear it without it tearing at the seams.

"There is no _way _I'm wearing this thing. It looks like it came from the children's section," Draco protested, throwing it at the other boy, who caught it and threw it back at him.

"Trust me, it'll look good. Just put it on," Potter sighed, leaning on the frame of Draco's bed.

Draco sighed, but did as he was told. "There. Are you happy now? I look like _you_," he complained, studying his reflection in the mirror.

The shirt fit a little better than he thought it would, which wasn't saying much, but still, every time he moved, the shirt rode up, showing his perfectly flat stomach. The sleeves went passed his elbows, ending at the white cuffs, and the white winged collar just barely covered his collarbone, but Draco was sure that he'd never worn anything so revealing in public.

Potter laughed, throwing him the black waistcoat that he'd taken from Draco's drawer. "I'll take that as a compliment. Now stop your pouting and put that over it."

"Pretty bossy today, aren't we?" Draco said, rolling his eyes. Nevertheless, he slipped the vest on and buttoned it. He had to admit that it did look a bit better and he didn't feel quite so naked anymore, but Draco still thought he looked ridiculous. Red definitely wasn't his color, he decided, noticing how it made his already pink lips look darker and his face overall more effeminate, which as a teenage boy hiding his sexually, wasn't what he was going for. Normally, Draco didn't allow much color into his wardrobe, much like his father in that respect.

"See? What'd I tell you? Much better," Potter commented, throwing him his jacket. "Now, let's go," he said, grabbing his keys from his desk.

"Now? We still have..." he paused, checking his watch. "An hour left before they even open. Ever heard of the expression, 'fashionably late'?"

"Nothing wrong with being fashionably early," Potter quipped. "Plus, I told Sirius I'd help him set up."

Draco had never been on a motorcycle before and he couldn't help but cling to Potter like a lifeline when he started it up. The wind made his skin feel strange, he was sure that the helmet completely messed up his hair, and to top it off, Potter drove above the speed limit the entire way there. It was something he was pretty sure he never wanted to experience again, but strangely, that thought evaporated when a slight thrill was sent through him as he imagined what his father would say if he knew about this.

Downtown Merlin was an architectural wasteland. The streets were made of cracked red bricks and the streetlights looked like old-fashion lanterns. Most of the buildings, which dated back to the late eighteen hundreds, had been renovated, but a lot of them looked like they would soon meet their doom in the form of a wrecking-ball. That is, if they didn't collapse in on themselves first.

Standing tall at the corner of Eighth Street and Railroad Avenue was the rightly named building of Eighth & Rail, located in the most congested part of downtown Merlin. The building itself was renovated, three storied tall and imposing in a way that spoke of just how ancient it was. For some reason, Potter parked around back, which meant they had to walk around front in order to get in.

Once they were inside, Draco paused and took a look around. The employees mostly ignored them, too busy getting ready for the night to come. The first thing he noticed about the place was that it smelled like cinnamon and coffee beans, giving it a warm, cozy feeling and something by Kevin Michael was playing through the sound system. Long, velvet red curtains hung from the high ceilings, down passed the thick white baseboards to the dark, hardwood floors. The red walls were covered in mirrors and beautiful artwork of musicians and various instruments, which he guessed probably came from the gallery next door. A display case sat in front of the bar by a host seating table, showing off gourmet cakes and other fancy deserts that went with their wide coffee selection.

During the past several weeks, Draco came to find that Potter was a very physical person. At first, he was very uncomfortable when Potter would put his arm around him or played with his hair, but then Draco realized he did those kind of things with everyone. Well, not as often as he did with Draco, but definitely overly familiar with everyone in the same respect. It was like he constantly needed to be touching something tangible.

Blaise had brought it up a couple weeks ago, being the psychological person that he is, when Potter told them that his parents died when he was really young. He said that the reason Potter constantly needed contact was because he probably didn't get enough attention as a child. Draco thought Potter would've taken offence to that, because Draco knew that he definitely would, had it been him, but all Potter did was shrug and say that it made sense.

But whether or not that was the reason, the fact was the same. Potter was a very physical person. It still made Draco a little uncomfortable when Potter touched him, but mostly, he'd gotten used to it. That was why Draco almost didn't notice Potter take his hand to lead him passed the bar and into the back.

Two men were sitting on a the edge of the stage and it took a second for Draco to realize that it was Potters godfather and Professor Lupin. Right when they were less than ten feet away from the two, Draco's eyes widened when...

They kissed.

It was chaste, nothing worth grabbing any ones attention, but it was definitely enough to make Draco stop walking. And it was enough to wipe away all the suspicion Draco had about Potter and Lupin's relationship. He supposed it made sense now; the reason they were so close must've been because Lupin was his godfathers boyfriend. Draco felt foolish, assuming that Potter and Lupin or Potter and Black were together just because of a hug and a kiss on the head. He felt foolish because ever since the very day he met Potter, he'd been thinking the boy was gay and having a relationship with one of the men twice his age. Never had the thought occurred to him that Potter was straight, which, Draco thought, he probably was.

"Hey, guys," Potter greeted, as if he hadn't seen anything unusual. Though, Draco figured, if Lupin was Black's boyfriend, then Potter must've been pretty used to it by now.

"Harry!" they chorused, beaming at him. "Who's..." Potter's godfather trailed off, raising a brow at their still connected hands. Following his line of sight, Draco immediately let go and crossed his arms over his chest, embarrassed.

"...This?" Black finished, giving Potter a wide-eyed, curious look. Lupin covered his mouth with his hand to unsuccessfully smother a giggle.

Potter coughed. "Oh, um, this is my roommate, Draco," he answered.

"Nice to see you, Mr Malfoy," Lupin smiled.

"Professor," Draco greeted, only a bit uncomfortable with seeing his teacher outside of school.

"_Malfoy_?" Black questioned slowly, suddenly looking a little distrustful as he looked at Draco. It was expected, so it didn't really effect the blond.

Potter cocked an eyebrow at his godfather. "You know him?"

"We're distant cousins," Draco informed him.

"Whoa. Really? Small world," Potter laughed.

"Um, Harry. Petie's upstairs," Black said, picking up his guitar and standing up. "I told him you were coming."

"You don't, er, need any help?" Potter offered, looking uncomfortable and reluctant all of a sudden.

"We can handle it, Harry. Go see Peter. You haven't seen him since... Well, you know..." Lupin trailed off, giving Potter a significant look and patting him on the back.

Potter stared at him for a moment, suddenly stoic. "Sure," he answered in monotone, shrugging Lupins had off his shoulder and turning around.

Draco decided to go with him, not having anything better to do, but once Potter saw that Lupin and Black weren't paying attention anymore, he turned, heading for the bar. Looking at Draco, Potter put a finger to his lips, getting his message across to Draco, who nodded.

Once seated and out of sight, Draco turned to Potter, who looked deep in thought. "So, what was that about?"

Potter shrugged, but didn't answer, staring at a pile of black employee uniform T-shirts on the other side of the bar. Suddenly, he looked up at Draco, a mischievous smirk dancing across his lips. Draco raised a brow at the sudden mood swing.

"I don't know about you, but I could use a drink," the raven told him, standing up. "What do you say, Draco? A Cum Shot? A Slippery Nipple? A Slow Comfortable Screw?" Potter teased, taking off his jacket.

Draco glared. "You're disgusting, Potter, you know that? And do you happen to see a bartender anywhere?"

Potter flashed him a quick smile before reaching across the bar and snatching one of the uniform shirts, looking around to see if anyone was watching. "I do now," he said after pulling it over his head.

Draco blinked. "You're going to get caught, I hope you know that," he told him, not a hundred percent against the idea himself.

"We'll see," Potter shrugged. Quickly, he went behind the bar. "So what do you want?"

Draco decided to play along. If Potter got caught, then that was his problem. "What can you make?"

Potter leaned against the bar and held out a drink menu. "Whatever you want," he answered smugly.

Draco gave him a doubtful look, but took the menu. Opening it from the middle, he picked the first thing he saw. "A Jolly Rancher."

Potter smirked, then turned around to reach for a rock glass. After filling it with ice, he set it aside, then grabbed a taller glass and filled it with ice also. He selected a green bottle from behind him and held it up for Draco to see. "Three quarters Apple Pucker," he informed, then, with the assistance from a shot measure, he poured it into the taller glass. "Three quarters Peach Schnapps," he said, doing the same with another bottle. He put the two bottles back and went below the bar, taking a plastic bottle from the mini-fridge and adding a bit before putting it back. "And a splash of cranberry juice."

Draco watched in interest as Potter shook the cocktail shaker like a professional. He picked up the rock glass, throwing the ice into the sink, before straining the liquid into the chilled glass. Placing it in front of Draco, Potter grinned. "Drink up."

Draco eyed it critically before he went to take a small sip, which made Potter laugh. "It's a shooter, Draco. You drink it all at once."

"How do I know you haven't poisoned it?" Draco asked cynically, but nevertheless, downed the drink.

"Well?"

"Ah. I'm impressed, Potter. Mind telling me how you learned all of this?" Draco questioned, a brow raised. He added the ability to come off as a professional bartender to the list of many mysterious things he knew about the raven.

Potters smile dropped. "...I paid attention," he answered vaguely. "Er, how 'bout I make you one more?" he offered, not waiting for an answer as he took out a martini glass.

Draco knew what he was doing, but didn't call him on it. He was used to Potter avoiding the question when he got uncomfortable with the subject. "Did you bring me here to get me drunk? Planning to take advantage of me?" Draco asked him jokingly.

Potter laughed. "If I wanted to get you drunk and fuck you, I wouldn't bring you here. Even if you _were_my type," he told him, and Draco almost choked on air at how utterly obscene Potter could be at times. He had to wonder, though, what the ravens type was exactly and if 'female' was on the list of qualifications. "Trust me, you're not gonna get drunk from one shooter and a martini," Potter scoffed.

Amazingly, he finished with Draco's drink and a drink for himself without any of the staff questioning him. He got more than a couple looks from the employees, but nobody said anything. Smirking, he placed Draco's drink in front of him.

"It's pink," Draco stated slowly, staring at the offending liquid. Potter didn't look up, but Draco could still see his shoulders shaking from suppressed laughter. He finished cleaning up his mess and grabbed his own drink, finally coming out from behind the bar.

Potter gave him a mock-surprised look. "It is? I guess it's your type of drink then."

Draco kicked him. "Fuck you, Pothead! You _suck_ at gay jokes."

"Ouch! Sorry," Potter laughed, taking off the uniform shirt and throwing it on top of the counter with the others without bothering to fold it. "It's a Cosmopolitan. You'll like it."

Draco groaned theatrically, but downed the girly drink to get it over with. He was absolutely surprised to find that Potter was right; he actually did like it. Not that he would admit that. Ever. It was much better than the Jolly Rancher, though, definitely.

Potter checked his watch. "Their opening in a couple minutes, lets get a seat," he suggested. He put his empty glass on the other side of the bar for someone else to take care of and put his jacket back on. He took Draco's hand to lead him away, but after the embarrassment he suffered from what happened last time, Draco snatched it back, earning a strange look from the raven.

Hours later, Finnigan, Thomas, and Blaise were seated with them on the couches right in front of the stage, watching The Marauders finish their last set. Draco was mildly surprised that he actually liked their music. He didn't think Black would be as talented as he was. Too talented to play in downtown Merlin, in fact. Whoever this Peter was, The Marauders' manager, Draco thought he seriously needed to be replaced if he had them play in such a small place, favor or not.

After Potter said goodbye to Lupin and his godfather, they went to leave, only to be stopped by one of the bartenders.

"Harry!"

Potter turned around and smiled. "Oh, hey. I didn't know you were working tonight," he said, leaning over the bar to give her a kiss on the cheek.

The girl looked way to young to be working behind the bar, but she was wearing a uniform, so unless she had the same idea as Potter had, Draco was pretty sure she worked there. The girl had unnaturally straight, short black hair and her big blue eyes were covered in black makeup. Her lips were coated in blood-red lipstick that just screamed she was probably as much of a slut as she looked. That, and she spoke with a low voice that Draco could only guess she thought was one-eight-hundred-number sexy. She had a nose-ring, her name tag said 'Jamie', and Draco instantly disliked her.

"Yep. Me and Jesse 'til midnight," she answered distractedly, handing some guy his beer.

"Oh, Jesse's here?"

"Right here," someone answered from behind them.

Draco turned around to see a boy, who looked exactly like Jamie. Draco figured they must be twins. He was wearing the same thing as her, too. Though not any lipstick, thankfully. They had the same haircut, same everything. He almost had enough eye-makeup on to rival his sister and he, too, had a nose-ring.

"Hey, Harry," the boy beamed, walking up to Potter with a tray of half-empty glasses and gave Potter a quick hug, causing him to spill something dangerously close to Draco's shoes. Draco glared at him, but it went unnoticed.

"Oh, this is my friend, Draco," Potter introduced. Draco wondered at that moment when they'd become friends.

"Just a friend?" They both asked in creepy unison.

"And roommate," Potter added.

"Right. Well, would you and your roommate like a drink?" Jamie asked.

"We were just leaving, actually," Draco cut in.

"That's too bad," Jamie said. She winked at Potter, who blew a kiss back at her.

Draco suddenly felt a little nauseous. Maybe he was coming down with heterophobia.

"Hey, Harry. Isn't that... ?" Jesse trailed off, pointing to a sleazy man, who was downing shots and talking with other sleazy men at one of the tables. Draco had seen people like that before. People with dilated pupils, facial sores and bad teeth like these guys. Draco knew that all of them were probably completely strung out on something.

The man Jesse had pointed out looked their way and his glassy eyes landed on Potter, squinting to get a better look. "Harry?"

"Hey, Peter," Potter said, holding up a hand in a pathetic excuse for a wave. He didn't sound very excited at all, though it sounded like he was trying to be. He wasn't smiling either, which sort of surprised Draco. Every time he saw Potter -hell, just a few seconds ago- the boy was grinning and looked friendly, but now, he looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.

The man stood up and walked over to where they were standing, sitting on one of the bar stools. "What are you doing here, Harry? I thought you were living with the, uh," the man trailed of, scratching at his thinning hair.

"The Dursley's. Yeah, I was, but I'm in Hogwarts now," Potter said, pleasantly enough. "Oh, er, this is Draco. Draco, this is Peter Pettigrew."

"Hey there," the man said, nodding to Draco, who didn't return the favor, then looked at Potter with a small, almost nervous smile on his face. "Wow. The last time I saw you was last year when we were in Surrey. Man, that was a blast, wasn't it?"

At that, Potter glared, his eyes darkening to an intense shade of green that never failed to put Draco on edge. "No. It wasn't," he answered coldly.

"Oh! You'll have to forgive me, Harry. I forgot all about, um, what's his name?"

"Cedric," Potter grounded out.

Draco had absolutely no idea what was going on. Looking down, he noticed Potters hands were actually shaking, before they were clenched into tight fists. Draco knew that shit was about to hit the fan.

"Yeah, him. That was such a shame. Looks like you got another one though, huh?" Pettigrew laughed obnoxiously, motioning to Draco, who couldn't quite hold back a look of total disgust even though he didn't really know what the man was talking about. And Potter, well, if looks could kill, Potter would have to find somewhere to hide this man's body.

"Excuse me? What the hell is this to you, a joke?" Potter seethed.

"Just tryin' to lighten the mood a little, Harry. Don't take it personally," Pettigrew told him.

Potter's eyes went wide and he gaped. "Don't take it personally? Just who the fuck do you think you're talking to?!"

"Christ, Potter. Calm down," Draco tried to intervene, grabbing Potters sleeve as if to pull him away and honestly a little scared when the raven jerked out of his grasp. Everyone was already watching the scene in interest, hoping for a fight.

"You were there, Peter! You _know_ what happened. How the hell can you even joke about that shit?!"

Pettigrew sighed. "Listen, Harry. Cedric-"

"I don't-!" Potter started, pausing to take a deep breath and run a shaky hand through his hair. "I don't want to hear it. Just keep his fucking name out of your mouth," he ordered. He turned, as if walking away, before turning back, giving Pettigrew a sweet smile. "Boy was it great seeing _you_ again, Pete." And with that, Potter stormed off.

Draco sent a dirty look to Pettigrew and tried to follow him, only to be held back by someone. Turning around, Draco was surprised to see Blaise. "What are you still doing here?" Draco asked him.

"I was about to leave when I saw what happened. Whats going on?"

Draco sighed. "Hell if I know."

"Well, do you need a ride or something?" Blaise asked him worriedly.

"No, you go ahead. We'll be there soon," he said, about to walk away when Blaise stopped him again. Draco shot him an annoyed look.

"Be careful?" Blaise suggested.

Draco was confused. Since when did Blaise care this much about him? And what did he need to be careful about? Despite this, he nodded and walked away. He tried to find Potter's godfather or Lupin, thinking they might've seen him, but they were nowhere in sight. Eighth & Rail was still pretty crowded, which made his search more difficult. After ten minutes of searching, he gave up and went outside, using the back door. Potter's bike was still where it was parked, so Draco knew he was still there. He decided to wait and let Potter find him. It didn't take very long.

Leaning on the hood of someones car, he tried to relax, listening to the music he could still hear coming from the building behind him. The second he lit up a cigarette, he jumped, dropping his lighter, when something dropped next to him from the sky. Or rather, the fire escape.

"Shit, Potter! Do you get off on sneaking up on me?"

Potter didn't answer, but took the cigarette from Draco's hand and threw it into a puddle. "You should quit," he told the blond for the hundredth time that month.

Draco would've been seriously pissed had he not been used to it. He had no idea why, but Potter did that every time he saw Draco smoking.

"Fuck that. Were you up there brooding that entire time? I've been looking for you for twenty minutes."

"I just need to be alone for a minute," Potter said. Leaning on the brick wall behind him, he gave Draco an apologetic look. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, really. What for?" Draco questioned, crossing his arms.

"For fucking up your night. Making you worry-"

"Ha! Who said I was worried?"

Potter ignored him. "-For causing a scene. Being an immature prick and ditching you. Take your pick."

Draco rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed, suddenly out of steam. "Well, for the record... you didn't fuck up my _entire _night. Believe it or not, I actually had fun." He quickly grew uncomfortable with the honestly. "But you left out the part where you threw out my last smoke," he informed.

Potter's lips twitch a bit at that. "You forgive me?"

Looking at Potters face, Draco knew that he already had, but he wouldn't let on. "That depends. Mind telling me what happened back there?"

Potter looked away and sighed. Draco waited for an answer, but when one never came, he huffed and walked off without a word. It didn't take long for Potter to catch up with him.

"Draco, stop being such a fucking queen. I _am _sorry, but it's just really personal. I just- I don't like to talk about it."

Draco tried to look indifferent. "Whatever, Potter. I'm not forcing you to. Let's just go."

"Okay, look," Potter started. Spinning Draco around to face him, he grasped the blonde's shoulders, making him look at him. "How 'bout this? I'll promise to tell you what I can if you stop giving me the cold shoulder," he bargained.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, 'what you can'?"

Potter let out a frustrated sigh. "It's complicated. There's some things I just _can't_ talk about. Especially not with my friends."

"Well, good. Because we're not friends, Potter. I told you that when I met you," Draco reminded him coldly, shrugging Potter's hands off his shoulders. He was about to continue his way to Potter's motorcycle, but paused when he heard Potter laugh derisively. He was looking up at the dark night sky as if the stars would help him out of this situation, and pulled the blond back by the waist.

"Oh, thats right. You did, didn't you?" Potter sighed again, looking back to Draco with a humorless smile. "Jesus, you _are_ a fucking queen. Fine. I'll tell you. But just... not now, okay?"

Taking in the ravens unsure tone and pleading look, Draco thought about for a moment, then nodded firmly. "Tomorrow, then."

The raven nodded in affirmation after a second and rested his forehead against Draco's, giving him over-exaggerated puppy-dog eyes, complete with a pout. "And you forgive me?"

Draco resisted the urge to smile. "Well, I don't know, Potter. You get forgiveness and I get to hear your sob story? That doesn't sound very fair to me," he smirked.

Green eyes sparkled as Potter smiled that same, charming smile that Draco had become accustomed to over the past several weeks and Draco could've sworn he saw a flash of light at that moment. "I'll make it up to you," Potter promised.

When they got back to dorm room number sixty-six, their roommates were still awake, telling Ron about the show. The second they walked through the door, they were questioned.

"And just where have you two been? Do you have any idea what time it is? Don't you know how to pick up a phone?" Finnigan chided, trying not to laugh as he poked them in the chest with an accusing finger.

Draco checked his watch. "At a bar. Eleven thirty-four. And yes, I do," he smirked, taking off his jacket.

Potter laughed. "Sorry, mom, but the gas station we were robbing didn't have a payphone."

"I'm guessing you two worked out ...whatever it was you needed to work out?" Blaise questioned.

All eyes were on them now. It was obvious to both of them that Blaise had told the rest of their roommates what he knew, which wasn't much.

Potter sighed dramatically and pulled Draco into a one armed hug. "It wasn't easy, getting through all the lies, the misunderstandings, the deceit. I thought our relationship was doomed to failure, but in the end, we decided to stay together, if only for the children- Oof!" Potter ended his speech when Draco decided to elbow him in the gut. Their roommates laughed, taking the violence as a sign that everything was alright again.

Draco fell back on the couch, wondering where he could get a cigarette before he had a nic-fit. Potter came up behind him, draping himself over the sofa, his head resting on the back rest. Draco could feel his breath on his neck as the raven ran his fingers through Draco's hair, but again, Draco had gotten somewhat used to this, so it only made him slightly uncomfortable.

The blond looked up at him and raised an amused eyebrow. "Do you always treat your friends like primates?" Draco asked, not catching his slip until after he said it.

"I thought you said we weren't friends," Potter smirked slyly.

"We aren't."

Potter gave him an amused look. "Well, tell me, Draco, for I am confused," he started grandly. "What does that make us?"

Draco found he didn't have an answer to that. At least not yet.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**Authors Note:** Sorry for the time skip, people. I apologize, but it was necessary. I decided on seven weeks mostly because I was listening to Seven Weeks by Gym Class Heroes featuring William Beckett at the time. I love that song.

Anyway, The Daily Profit in this story is sort of like Perez Hilton dot com. That's where I got the idea. And just so you know, Eighth & Rail is a real place. I used to work there. Sort of.

I need your help! Harry is going to play at the talent show, but I honestly don't know what I want him to sing. I was thinking maybe something Halloween-esque, you know? If you have any ideas, don't hesitate to tell me.

A week late and this is all I came up with? I absolutely hated this chapter. It took forever to write and in the end, I still wasn't happy with it. But since my opinion doesn't really matter, tell me what you guys think, okay?

Review!!


	8. Malfoys New Boy

**Rating:** It isn't now, but it'll be M eventually.

**Warning: **Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness. Future drug use.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the series. Nor any of the songs mentioned in this chapter.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Eight**

**Malfoys New Boy**

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Harry knew from the second he stepped out of the dorm room that morning that something was going on. Walking through the halls to breakfast, he noticed that many people, students and teachers alike, were giving him strange looks and even whispering to their friends about him when they thought he wasn't listening. At first, he thought it must be because of what he was wearing, which didn't exactly follow the dress code seeing as all he had on was a pair of jeans and the black wife-beater he'd slept in the night before, but when he sat down at his usual table in the cafeteria, he found he wasn't the only one who was receiving this type of treatment.

"Am I being paranoid, or is everyone staring at us like we have some sort of contagious disease?" Harry asked, drowning his pancakes in maple syrup.

He and Draco were the only two at their table, which was no surprise considering it was Sunday and still fairly early. Harry usually slept in on the weekends like the rest of his roommates, but he was hungry and figured Draco could use the company.

Speaking of Draco, Harry noticed that the blond didn't look up at the question, which told Harry that he actually did notice the strange behavior of his schoolmates, but chose not to acknowledge them. And looking around, it seemed like the blond was actually receiving the brunt of every ones attention.

"You're being paranoid," Draco answered easily, staring at his plate, which had barely been touched.

No matter how uncomfortable it was making him, he took Draco's example and tried to ignore it. Or at least pretended to. The rest of breakfast was almost completely silent, and he could tell that the blond was just, if not more, freaked out than he was, but still, he brushed it off. That worked for a while, until they got back to their dorm room.

"'...dark delinquent when he's supposed to be getting his education at the legendary boarding school, Hogwarts Academy? Somehow, we doubt it."

Their roommates were all awake by now, looking over Seamus' shoulder as the Irishman finished reading something to them from the laptop sitting on the coffee table. Everyone seemed to be somewhat surprised by something.

"What's going on?" Harry asked them, trying to sound casual, but not fully succeeding.

Blaise looked at them, wearing an amused little smirk that Harry knew could only mean trouble. "We seem to have a problem here," he stated.

Seamus put a hand on Blaise's shoulder, signaling that he could take it from here, and cleared his throat. "Is there, um, something you two need to tell us?" He spoke slowly and calmly, like a parent would when they knew their child had stolen the car, but wanted to give them a chance to confess before grounding them for a year.

"Er, no?"

"Liar!"

Blaise gave the Irishman a wack on the head. "Seamus, stop!"

"Harry, you don't have to lie about it anymore. It's not like we actually have any room to judge you. We just want to know why you guys didn't think you could tell us," Dean interjected, trying to be the voice of reason.

"And why Malfoy of all people? Gross," Ron added, shuddering.

"Ron! They have no idea what you guys are talking about," Blaise told them crossly.

The Irishman took a calming breath and tried again. "Okay. I was on TDP this morning, seeing if they had anything on The Marauders," he started.

"And...?" Harry asked when he didn't continue.

"And... they did."

Draco rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "What does this have to with us?" he asked, never the patient one.

Ron turned the laptop around to face them. "...This."

Harry heard Draco gasp slightly from beside him as they looked at the picture on the screen. It was from the night previous, when they were behind Eighth & Rail. The picture showed Harry and Draco standing close, the raven's arm around the blonde's waist, resting his forehead against the others. They were smiling, or in Draco's case, smirking, as they looked into each others eyes. Harry had to admit that it made a very implicative photograph.

"Oh, my God..." Draco breathed as he stepped forward to read what was writen below the picture, his eyes getting wider with every sentence.

_'__**Malfoy's New Boy?**_

_One of our reporters here at TDP, Betty Braithwaite, was in downtown _

_Merlin this weekend watching the up-and-coming band, The Marauders, _

_perform live at local establishment, Eighth & Rail. The performance, _

_however, was the least interesting thing to be seen that night._

_After the show, Draco Malfoy (son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy) was _

_spotted out late with a myterious 'friend', who has yet to be named._

_They were noticed when this mystery person started a drunken brawl _

_at __the bar, resulting in minimal injuries. No charges were filed against _

_this __unidentified assailant._

_The photograph (above) was taken in the alley behind Eighth & Rail by _

_our reporter, who tells us they were making up from an argument, up _

_close and personal. She also tells us that the young Malfoy left on the _

_back of a motorcycle with the anonymous teen, who was presumably _

_intoxicated._

_Whether this person is actually the youngest Malfoy's 'bad boy' lover _

_remains to be seen, but as it's been said, a pictures worth a thousand _

_words. We'll let our readers decide._

_TDP has to wonder though, does Mr and Mrs Malfoy know that their _

_only son is bating for the home team? Sneaking into bars under-aged _

_and riding off into the night with some dark delinquent when he's _

_supposed to be getting his education at the legendary boarding school, _

_Hogwarts Academy?_

_Somehow, we doubt it.'_

"Oh, my _God_!" Draco repeated, mortified.

Harry couldn't help it, he laughed.

Draco shot him a glare that could've caused frost-bite. "You think this is funny, Potter? Their calling you my gay, alcoholic boyfriend!"

"I-I know! It's just-Ha! I-It's just so ridiculous! 'Minimal injuries'? 'Presumably intoxicated'? 'B-Bad boy lover'?" Harry managed to respond before dissolving into a giggling mess.

Draco looked about ready to kill him. "I swear to God, Potter, if you don't stop laughing, I will rip out your fucking tongue!!"

"Time to go," Blaise announced swiftly, heading for the door with Ron.

Seamus, who had been intently watching the argument ensue, looked at him frantically as Dean grabbed his arm. "What? No way!"

"Come on, Seamus," Dean sighed, dragging the Irishman out the door practically kicking and screaming.

When the door shut, Harry wiped the tears from his eyes, trying to calm down. "I'm sorry, but, Jesus Christ! How stupid can these people get?"

Ignoring what Harry said, Draco started pacing. "There's no telling how many people have read this already... Everyone actually believes this outlandish filth? ...That _fucking_ Daily Profit! They can just _wait_ until Father hears about this," he said, speaking mostly to himself. Suddenly, he gasped, his eyes going wide as he brought a hand to his mouth. "Oh, God, my _father_," he breathed, falling back on the sofa with a pained expression, his head in his hands. Harry sat down beside him, concerned.

"Thing's like this usually work themselves out, Draco. Just try to calm down," Harry said soothingly, running a hand down Draco's back.

Draco's head snapped up and he glared at the raven heatedly, pushing Harry's hand away from him. "Don't tell me to calm down, Potter! Do you _know _who my father is?" he asked. Harry's brow creased in concern when the blond face fell, leaving him looking incredibly sad. "Do you _know_ what he'll think when he reads this?" Draco continued softly, his voice almost breaking.

"You can't tell me that he'll honestly believe that shit," Harry scoffed. He had no clue how to console the blond, never having been particularly good with comforting.

Draco stared blankly at the screen in front of them. "The truth is always based on lies, Potter," the blond said cryptically, sounding as if he was quoting somebody. "He knows that."

"Okay, so what? He'll know you went to a bar. Big deal. What's he gonna do, ground you?" Harry laughed, trying to make light of the situation.

Draco glared at him fiercely. "I knew I shouldn't have went anywhere with you. This is all your fault!"

Harry gaped. "_My_ fault? I didn't know the fucking _paparazzi_ would be there! And I didn't exactly force you to come, you know."

The blond didn't seem to hear him, standing up to continue his pacing. "My father can't afford any more bad publicity. When he sees this, like the whole world is seeing this, he'll think just what the rest of them are thinking! That I'm just some irresponsible, motorcycle-riding, bar-hopping queer!"

Gobsmacked, Harry stared a him for a moment. "Wait... That's the only reason you're so worried, isn't it? You're afraid he'll think you're _gay_," he accused slowly as he stood up, absolutely incredulous. "Tsk, Draco, I had no idea you were that incredibly _dumb_."

Draco seethed, glaring at him with cold, grey-blue eyes. "What the hell do you know about parents, Potter!? You don't even _have_ any!" he spat cruelly.

Almost immediately after Draco said that, Harry saw his eyes lose all of their previous vehemence and he opened his mouth as if to apologize, but it was too late. Snarling, Harry already had him up against the wall, a hand at the blonds delicate throat in a bruising grip and the other clutched into a tight fist hovering behind him, aimed at Draco's pretty face. He saw Draco flinch and gasped simultaneously as his back hit the wall and Harry felt him brace himself for a punch beneath his touch, but it turned out to be unnecessary after a moment of hesitation.

Usually, had it been almost anyone else, they'd have been bleeding as soon as the word 'parents' left their lips, but Harry just couldn't bring himself to actually hit Draco, which was weird because he knew the blond deserved it. It seemed Draco knew it as well, because when he looked up, Harry saw the confusion clearly written on his face, in his eyes.

Sighing, Harry let his fist drop, but kept his other hand around Draco's neck, fingertips barely brushing Draco's narrow jaw. Taking a step forward, he let his head drop near the blonds shoulder, trying to calm down as he loosened his grip. "Don't talk about my parents like that, Draco," he said into the other boys ear. All things considered, it came out almost calmly, almost a whisper.

He waited until he felt Draco's slow, unsure nod, then leaned back to look at Draco's throat, wincing as he noticed it was already starting to bruise. Remorseful, he placed a quick, apologetic kiss on the boys neck, noting the faint smell of something like vanilla as he did so. Much like most of the things he does, it was almost completely compulsive and unpremeditated, but he wanted to say he was sorry without actually _saying_ sorry, so it was worth it if he got his point across.

In the back of his mind, an incredulous voice was asking how he went from wanting to punch this boy in the face and demanding an apology, to kissing his neck and wanting forgiveness, but he ignored it in favor of seeing Draco's reaction, which confused him. His breathing, which Harry had just noticed was previously heavy, hitched in his throat the second Harry's lips touched the soft skin of his throat and a pale hand came up to grab onto the raven's shoulder, pushing him away in a manner that could only be described as desperate.

"This... This is why it's all your fault," the blond claimed, his hair falling into his face and eyes shut tightly.

Harry groaned in frustration, running a hand through his hair. "Draco, I'm sorry they said all those things, okay? I'm sorry that they're spreading lies about you. About us," he admitted. Gently raising Draco's chin with his fingertips, Harry made sure the snarling blond was looking at him. "But this is _not_ my fault," he told the other boy firmly. He was slightly shocked when Draco slapped his hand away from his face with a sharp 'smack'.

"Don't touch me, Potter!" Draco ordered shrilly. "If it's not your fault, then whose is it, huh? It's not _your_ name that's posted up for the entire world to see. It's not _your_ father who's going to think you're nothing but a miserable failure that can't do something as simple as keeping his face out of the tabloids! And it's not _you_ who's going to have to explain to him why his only son was in an alley behind some bar, 'up close and personal' with some low-life freak like you!"

After Draco caught his breath, Harry watched as Draco slowly dropped his gaze, completely shame-faced. Harry was stunned speechless and... admittedly a little hurt. Having lived with the Dursleys, he was used to being verbally assaulted on a daily basis, but if there was one name he couldn't stand to be called, it was 'freak'. And with it coming from Draco's mouth, it cut a little deeper than when any of his horrible relatives called him that. That being said, Harry felt no small amount of sadistic pleasure as he watched the blond uncharacteristically fumble for the right words to fix his mistake.

"Look. Potter, I'm..." Draco began, reaching out to take the ravens hand.

Harry didn't even looked down as he moved his hand out of Draco's reach. "Don't touch me, Malfoy," he said blankly, staring at Draco with a stone-cold expression as he repeated Draco's words and purposefully used his last name, which tasted bitter on his mutilated tongue.

He immediately felt like a cruel bastard for it, though, when he saw Draco flinch as if his words were a physical blow, then stare at him like Harry had just killed his three-legged puppy. Harry wasn't sure, but he could've sworn he saw tears in the blond boys eyes before he turned away.

"Draco..." Harry sighed as guilt consumed him, stepping forward.

"I'm... I have to go."

Harry watched Draco as he strode his way to the door. Out of the dozens of things he wanted to say to the blond at that moment, he only managed to get out one word, and just barely at that. "Where?"

"To run damage control," the blond threw over his shoulder shakily on his way out the door.

Harry just stood there for a moment, replaying their argument in his head, trying to make some sort of sense of it as he stared at the door. After a long moment of not succeeding, he walked over to his trunk, taking out one of his semi-empty notebooks and headed toward the couch, grabbing a pen from his desk on the way. It was purely instinct at this point, an old habit he could never seem to get rid of to write when anything, big or small, went wrong in his life. It was useless, as he hadn't been able to write anything good for over a year, but no less therapeutic. He barely noticed when Blaise cautiously came back in, shutting the door quietly behind himself.

"I heard what happened..."

Harry glanced up at him and snorted. "Yeah? You and the rest of the building," he responded bitterly, going back to his notebook. "Where's everyone else? I figured Seamus would've been listening on the other side of the door, not you."

"Breakfast," Blaise answered shortly. Sitting on one of the armrests, he sighed in relief. "Man, I thought you two had killed each other when I didn't hear anything for a while."

Harry laughed humorlessly. "Oh, I was tempted."

"Harry. You know Draco didn't mean what he said, right? He was just-"

"Please don't start making excuses for him," Harry interrupted, shaking his head. "I know the little twink didn't mean most of what he said, but I also know that he actually _does_ blame me for this whole thing."

Blaise nodded, deciding on a different approach to this conversation. Time to be supportive. "Well, yes, that is pretty ridiculous. I mean, It's not like you wanted this to happen. But Draco, he knew there was a chance of being seen by the press. He should've been more careful. So, really, if anybody's to blame, it's him."

Harry stopped writing for a second as he thought of a responce, then nodded. "Well, I don't think it's anybodys fault really, but I know it's not _my_ fault what this school thinks, or what the Daily Profit implies about him. And it's _definitely_ not my fault if his father thinks he's gay now."

"Exactly. You didn't know someone would take that picture. And even if you did, it still wouldn't be your fault if Lucius decides to take him out of Hogwarts because of this," Blaise said, planting the metaphorical seed.

Harry went to nod again, but stopped when Blaise's words regestered in his head. He shot the other boy a sharp look, alarmed at the very idea of Draco leaving. "He'd actually do that? Draco wouldn't actually let him do that, would he?"

Blaise shrugged indifferently, smirking inside. "I wouldn't doubt it. Nobodys opinion matters more to Draco than his fathers. And to Lucius Malfoy, appearance is everything. He can't have people thinking his son is anything less than perfect. And it really doesn't help that the man's as homophobic as they come, either."

Harry deflated. "I didn't know that..." he mumbled, starting to feel bad.

Blaise resisted the urge to smirk. "Of course, you didn't. It's not your fault you were ignorant," he said 'consolingly', patting Harrys back and ignoring the withering glare aimed in his direction. "But it's not like there's anything _you_ could do about it now anyway," he scoffed.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? I could do something if I wanted to," Harry argued, hating feeling any amount of helplessness.

Blaise laughed as if the very idea was preposterous. "There's nothing you can do about it, Harry. And even if there was, it still wouldn't matter. You've seen this kind of thing in the news before, right? What happens when some celebrity tries to deny anything? Everyone immediately thinks they're lying."

Staring at the notebook in his hands, an idea suddenly popped into Harry's head. Though, not just an idea, but a potential solution. "So, everyone will believe what they want to believe no matter what. And if anyone does anything to prove otherwise..."

"It won't matter," Blaise finished for him, standing.

"Well, what do they want to believe? That we're fucking? That I'm some kind of rebel teenager with a drinking problem from the wrong side of the tracks? That we're in love?"

Blaise nodded curtly. "Exactly. They want to believe that you two are in some twisted, sex-driven relationship, and if you even try to deny it, it'll only give them more ammo. Now, I'm going to get myself some breakfast. I'll see you later, Harry."

Walking to the door, Blaise mentally applauded himself for a meticulously well done job, patted his own back for his performance. Reverse psychology was his strong suit, really, he thought flatteringly. His ego inflated with every step he took.

Harry waited until Blaise opened the door, then smirked. "Thank you, doctor," he said smartly, letting the other boy know he wasn't fooling anybody.

Blaise closed his eyes, knowing he'd been caught. Turning around to face the raven, he grinned. "I'll be sending you the bill, Mr Potter. Oh," he said, remembering something and suddenly turning serious, yet amiable. "And you're welcome," he added with a smile before closing the door.

Harry sat there, looking critically down at what he'd written before he and Blaise's impromptu therapy session. He struggled with the decision of whether if it was worthy of salvaging into a song or tearing out the whole page, crumbling it into a tight ball and throwing it into the next trash can available. He had to admit that, though there weren't many of them yet, the words were a bit angry sounding and bitter. That's exactly what he had been going for then, but reading over them now, only minutes later, they seemed... darkly funny somehow, so he decided to keep it.

About an hour later, most of his roommates, excluding Draco, were back in dorm room number sixty-six doing their own thing and trying not to distract or interrupt Harry as he was ostensibly in another world, writing his song, sitting in the exact place he'd been an hour before, only with his guitar with him now. He didn't seem to hear anything anyone said, either, be it directed to him or anyone else, but everyone still tried to give him space and keep their voices down, silencing altogether when the raven-haired boy played a few experimental cords at seemingly random intervals.

Harry wasn't exactly paying any attention to their reactions, but when he happened to look up after humming along to some random combination of cords and saw them exchanging intrigued glances, he seriously started to rethink the decision he'd made two weeks ago about not playing in the talent show when Remus showed him the sign-in sheet.

Around noon, Harry decided he'd definitely be in the talent show and this would be the song he'd play. He had almost everything already planned out in his head, he just hadn't written it down on paper or worked out some relatively insignificant bugs yet. About a year ago, before he stopped writing all together, he wouldn't usually over-do it like he knew he was doing at the moment, but he knew this song was going to be one of the most important songs he'd ever written and he wanted to have it perfected before the talent show on Friday.

After almost four hours straight of constant work, his roommates forced him to go to lunch with them and take a much-needed break. He let himself be dragged along, but brought his notebook with him, just in case. He was a bit disappointed, yet relieved at the same time, that Draco didn't show up to eat with them.

That evening, he went to Remus' apartment to tell Sirius and Remus the news and that they'd better be there opening night to hear him play. They were both thrilled, which made him feel just a little better about them _still_ not telling him about the true nature of their relationship.

Again, Sirius offered to help as much as he possibly could, which turned out to be a hell of a lot. He called up the rest of The Marauders that very night, asking them if they'd be willing to play at a schools talent show, to which they, of course, all basically answered with multiple variations of 'hell no', but after some convincing, bribing and calling in some favors on Sirius' part, they eventually all agreed, albeit a bit grudgingly.

Sirius didn't stop there, though, not by a long shot, which Harry already knew he wouldn't, being the over-the-top, impulsive, steadfast, and slightly eccentric man that he was. He told Harry he could use any and all the instruments and concert props he wanted, said he'd help him practice and even offered to play bass on stage. All in all, Harry thought his godfather was being amazingly generous.

He didn't get back to Hogwarts until a little after curfew that night, bringing his electric guitar back with him, which Remus had been keeping at his place for him, and practiced some more in the rec room. After waking up several angry occupants of the dorms, Professor McGonnagal ordered him to bed with the threat of a months detention. By the time he'd got back to the dorm room, everyone was already asleep.

The next three days passed in a somewhat similar fashion. He'd go to all his classes, ride over to the apartment to practice immediately afterwards, drive back to Hogwarts when he felt they'd accomplished enough for the day, practice some more in the rec room if he got in before curfew, do his homework if he wasn't too tired, then finally get some sleep. Will the help of Sirius, he finished the guitar tablature on Monday, which he thought was an incredible feat considering he'd only just started the day before. It certainly wasn't flawless, but he was sure it would be reaching the perfection he was aiming for soon enough.

Even though he hadn't really been around much, Harry had noticed that Draco seemed to be just as busy as he had been lately, since he rarely ever saw the boy anymore, and when he did, they'd end up in some ridiculously petty argument, because no matter how hard they both tried, they just couldn't seem to ignore each other. Blaise had informed him that Draco had been trying to handle the tabloid problem on his own without any parental assistance. Harry translated that to, as the blond put it, 'running damage control', or as Blaise had put it, 'giving the press more ammo'. He'd also noticed that Draco had been skipping meals regularly, though Harry had a feeling that was only to avoid all the stares and whispers, which were still running rampant in Hogwarts like it was that past Sunday, only worse because the students were starting to spread the gossip and get more open about it. On Wednesday, that proved to be a vast understatement.

Harry was at the apartment again on Wednesday night, practicing his song with his godfather and the rest of The Marauders and he was pleased to find they actually seemed impressed by his song, seemed to like it even. It was almost completely finished by now aside from a few missing lyrics and minor adjustments, which was nothing short of incredible considering the amount of time the whole process took.

The Marauders were a pretty typical image of modern rock musicians, only without the fame. And sure, they were fun to hang out with and acted okay enough, but something about them seemed kind of shifty to Harry.

He was proved to be right about that when, deciding to take the rest of the night off, he picked up what he thought was his jacket on the way to the door, put it on, and went to fish his keys from the pocket. What he pulled out instead made him realize that it wasn't his at all, but the jacket he'd seen the drummer had been wearing. It was a simple mistake that could've just been brushed off considering it looked almost exactly like his, but when he pulled out a little plastic tied-up baggy containing a certain illegal green herb, he was furious with the drummer.

It wasn't as though Harry hadn't smoked it before, hell, he wasn't even denying the fact that he'd enjoyed it, but for this man to bring a dime-sack into Remus' home was just completely unacceptable. Everyone who knew Remus and Sirius, knew that they had a no tolerance drug policy after what Sirius had been wrongly sent to jail for. Out for revenge, Harry dropped the baggy into his pants pocket, which he would 'dispose' of later, said goodbye, got _his_jacket, and left. Heh, no weed for drummer boy.

He dropped by Eighth & Rail to get a couple of old stage lights that Sirius had told him the owner wanted to get rid of, but ended up staying there longer than he planned when he saw that Jamie and Jesse were working. The twins sort of reminded him of his old friends back in Surrey, back when they were actually his friends. After about an hour of just hanging out, Harry drove back to Hogwarts, noting that the sun was starting to set already.

When he arrived back at the Academy, Harry didn't use the front door to the entrance building, but went around back to avoid McGonnagal, knowing that she'd be curious about the guitar case that was swung around his shoulder and the stage lights hanging from his neck. Out of habit, he glanced out at the lake, and was a bit surprised at what he saw.

Draco was watching the beautiful blue, orange and pink sunset through the lens of a camera as it was reflected on the surface of the lake. It usually wasn't odd to find the blond out there, sitting on one of the benches and looking out to the lake as he puffed on a cigarette, but now, the blond was sitting in the grass, no more than a yard or two from the water, and snapping pictures of the sunset.

Even from a distance, Harry could see the slight smile on the blond boys face as a fish jumped above the surface of the lake, creating ripples in the water. Harry had never seen Draco look as peaceful, as innocent as he did right then. Of course, Draco had to ruin the deceiving image by lighting up a cigarette as he finished putting away his camera, safely tucked inside his shirt where it couldn't be seen.

Harry was about to walk down to him, partly because he thought they should talk, but mostly because he just couldn't stand the sight of Draco smoking, when he saw three boys from the track team jog over to the blond. He had no idea who two of them were, but he did recognise one of them as Theodore Nott, who was seemingly the 'leader' of the pack. They were all in matching running outfits, too, which made Harry scoff.

"Hey, Malfoy! Wanna come suck my dick, you little fag?!" Nott jeered as they approached, triggering a seriously disturbing round of obnoxiously loud guffaws and leers from his little wannabe posse.

The second Harry heard this, his eyes went wide, then narrowed to slits and he dropped everything he was holding. Stalking toward them, absolutely murderous, he saw Draco freeze for a split second before forcing himself to relax and pretend he wasn't at all effected.

"Did you hear me, Malfoy? I said-"

"Yes, Nott, I, like everyone else within a miles radius of you, did have the displeasure of hearing your little bout of idiocy," Draco answered mockingly, seemingly without a care in the world. "And for future reference," he continued flippantly, sending Nott a warning glance. "Any part of you, that touches me, you wont be getting back," he added matter-of-factly, going back to his smoke and watching the lake.

Harry, who had stopped walking when Draco started to speak, had to restrain a snort at that. He decided to wait and see if Draco actually needed help before jumping in, and stepped out of sight under a tree. Thinking before acting wasn't something he usually did, but he was curious at how Draco planned to deal with this situation. Observing, he saw the two other boys exchange an uncertain look behind Notts back.

Nott didn't seem as effected by it as everyone else was though. "Aww, that was _very _clever, Malfoy," he cooed. "If it wasn't for your current status of _fruit_cake, I might've actually taken that threat seriously," Nott scoffed. "But as it stands, I have a question for you."

Innocently, Draco raised a perfect eyebrow questioningly. "But you've already asked me a question, Nott. You wanted me to suck your cock, but I told you to go to hell, remember?"

One of the other boys chose to speak up, brows furrowed in confusion. "You never said-"

"Oh, I didn't? Well then," Draco cleared his throat, then looked at Nott with a cold stare. "Go. To. Hell. All of you."

Nott merely laughed. "Don't worry, Malfoy. It doesn't have anything to do with your new-found sexuality. Well... okay, it does."

Draco let out a exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. "Okay, Nott, I think you've made it clear that you've heard the rumors, which are just that; _rumors_."

Nott snorted, playing idly with the key chain that was hanging from his neck. "Please, I wouldn't be surprised if even the giant squid knows about that by now. Actually, I was just wondering if it was such a good idea for you to be smoking, Malfoy. You wouldn't want to die from lung cancer at an early age, leaving poor Potter a lonely widower, now would you? Then he'd have to go find a _new _fuck toy," the boy smirked, inciting a new round of laughter from his lackeys.

"A lonely widower looking for a fuck toy...?" Draco pretended to ponder for a moment, rubbing his chin as he stood up gracefully. Then he put on a look of sudden realization. "Oh, you mean like your father?" he asked mock-innocently, bringing the cigarette to his lips as if to hide his smirk, but really only managing to draw attention to it, which was probably what he'd intended.

Even Harry had to gape at that. Literally everyone knew about, as the press called it, 'The Nott Scandal'. It was one of the most ridiculous cases in history. The story was that, not long after Notts mother died, his father was charged with paying over fifty prostitutes for their 'services' over the span of two months and 'accidently' killing one of them. Despite the evidence to the contrary, he was ruled as innocent in court. Rumors say that he paid off the judge and jury, but nobody was absolutely certain how he did it. The press had a field day with the story, though, and to this day, it still appears on the news.

Nott's eyes were wide and filled with searing hatred. "H-How _dare_ you talk about my father, you sick fucking freak!"

At the word 'freak' and the threatening steps the three boys started to take closer to Draco, Harry figured it was time to make his presence known and stop the fight before it started.

"Now, now, Theodore," Harry chided condescendingly, waving a mocking finger at the other boy as he walked up to him. "Resorting to name-calling _already_? Where is all that witty banter I was hearing a second ago?"

"Why, if it isn't Wonder Boy come to save his boyfriend," Nott laughed, earning a few snickers from his followers.

Harry raised a brow. "Wonder Boy, huh? Is that-" he started, cutting himself off. Taking inspiration from Nott's earlier giant squid comment, his eyes widened to saucers as he stared at something behind Nott's head. Raising a shaky finger and stumbling back several steps, he started screaming, "O-oh, my God! I-It's the- It's the-!!"

Immediately, Nott and his friends jumped around to face the lake, thanks to Harry's wonderfully convincing acting abilities, and once they did, Harry took the opportunity to kick Nott's ass, literally, causing Nott to fall face-first into the dirty water.

"Ah!!"

His groupies gasped and rushed to help him, only to succeed in getting pulled in as well.

After taking a second to admire his work before turning to leave, he spotted something shiny and silver laying in the grass. Picking it up, he discovered it was a key. Or more specifically, the key chain that was around Nott's neck before he was kicked into the murky lake, courtesy of Harry's foot.

"I'll get-!" Nott sputtered, trying to stand without falling back in. "I'll get you back, Potter! I swear, if it's the last thing I do, I will get you _both_ back for this! You're _dead_, do you hear me?! The both of you!"

Ignoring the raving and wet teenager, Harry looked around for Draco, but the blond was nowhere in sight.

"Draco...?" Looking toward the school, Harry spotted the boy, who was angrily stalking up to the entrance building. Harry hurried to catch up with him, grabbing his stuff on the way. "Draco, wait up!"

"Leave me alone, Potter!"

Harry gaped incredulously, but kept after him. "Are you kidding? I just saved your ass back there!"

"I'm not your fucking damsel in distress, you moron, I don't need to be saved! I could've handled it myself just fine," the blond ranted, keeping his quick pace, trying to get away from the boy following him, but not really.

"Well, it sure as hell didn't look that way from where _I_ was standing. They were gonna beat the shit out of you, Draco! Three to one, who'd you _think_ was gonna win?"

"Whether I could've 'won' or not, it was _none _of your business. Do you have any idea what Nott will do to us, to _me, _now? You should've just stayed out of it!"

"And, what? Did you expect me just sit back and watch? Just walk away and do nothing? There's no way I would ever do that to you, you little twink!"

Draco finally stopped and looked at him. "Oh, but you could do everything in your power to make the situation even worse? To make it look like I couldn't handle it on my own? Look, I've been hearing people say that kind of crap behind my back all week, and I've been dealing with it just fine without any of your help. You would've known that if you'd actually been here at all this week."

Despite himself, Harry smirked a little at that. "Sounds kind of like you missed me."

Draco scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself, Potter. I could care less where you've been," he claimed, opening the back door to the entrance building and slamming it shut behind him.

Harry caught up with him again after a moment. "Draco... Draco! Can you stop being a queen for just one minute and listen to me?"

Draco turned and stopped abruptly, still glaring. "What, Potter? What could you possibly have to say now?"

"I'm going to fix this, okay? What the Daily Profit started, what the school thinks, I'll fix it. Even Nott, I'll just get him before he gets us. I promise, I'll fix all of this," Harry promised as sincerely as possible.

Draco stared at him like he was crazy for a moment, then laughed. "Ha! I think that 'Wonder Boy' comment went to your head a bit, Potter, if you think you can actually fix this mess."

"I know I can," Harry said confidently.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Potter. Now, before I leave, mind telling me why you're wearing giant light bulbs?"

It took Harry a moment to realize what the blond was talking about. "Oh. They're stage lights for the talent show. Eighth & Rail was getting rid of them, so I stopped by earlier."

"The Daily Profit was right about one thing, Potter. You are a drunk," Draco insulted, though it didn't have any heat behind it, before leaving through the dormitory entrance.

"They were right about two things then, because you are the biggest god damn queen I know," Harry returned almost playfully before the blond was out of sight, a smirk on his lips.

Harry didn't bother following him and slowly looked down at the key he was still clutching in his hand, a positively _evil_ idea springing into his head as he stared at the room number engraved on the face of it.

About ten minutes later, he was sneaking out of Nott's room, shutting the door quietly behind himself, leaving the key inside and not bothering to lock it back. He was laughing manically inside his head the entire way to Dumbledore's office, trying to keep the smirk off his lips.

He didn't notice the dark figure that was watching him as he did all this, though.

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**Authors Note:** Okay, first off, I just want to say thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter, you guys are just awesome.

As for the song Harry's going to sing at the talent show, I want to say that what you guys came up with last chapter were fantastic, thanks for telling me.

I'm telling you guys now that, though I'm not _completely_ ignorant about this, I know next to nothing at all about how to write a song, so forgive me if almost everything I wrote about it was bullshit.

I must admit I actually sort of liked this chapter though, and I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. I think that has something to do with how ridiculously dramatic it was, though. And, despite the fact that I know a lot of you (most of you) don't exactly like our lovely couple fighting, I hope you guys liked it, too.

Review!!


	9. Black and White

**Rating: **It isn't now, but it'll be M eventually.

**Warning: **Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness. Future drug use.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the series. Nor any of the songs mentioned in this chapter.

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**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Nine**

**Black and White**

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At first, Draco didn't think he'd be able to handle the rumors on his own, but now... Well, now he was sure he couldn't. He'd been furious when he first read The Daily Profits article, and when Draco's furious, his brain has a harder time filtering what should come out of his mouth. He ended up saying a lot of awful things that he now regretted to Potter, just to hurt the other boy. Like what he said about Potter's parents.

Ever since Snape made that jab about Potters last name on that first day of school, Draco knew that the subject of parents was a sore spot for the raven. Yet when Potter said that the only thing Draco was afraid of was his father thinking he was gay (which was an entirely correct statement) Draco made the mistake of saying the first thing that came to mind; that Potter didn't know anything about parents since he didn't have any. It was cruel and uncalled for, but it flew out of his mouth before he could stop it.

The second he said that, Potter threw him against the wall and held him there with a hand to his throat. Draco could admit that he was a little frightened, he could maybe even admit that he noticed the way Potters brilliant green eyes burned like emerald flames whenever he was angry, but he would _never_, not in a million years, admit the fact that... Well, he couldn't exactly say he hated it, having all of Potters attention focused entirely on him, furious or otherwise. He probably wouldn't have felt that way had Potter actually punched him, but since he didn't, Draco was left seriously confused about his own reaction.

He was confused about Potters reaction, too. The boy seemed ashamed of even attempting to hit him, when he actually had every reason to. Then Potter did something that completely shocked Draco back into reality; the boy _kissed_ his _neck_. Now Draco knew that Potter probably meant it as just an apologetic gesture for throttling his neck or something, but, seriously. Who does that? What normal person raises a fist with the intent to cause physical harm, but then drops it, kissing their bruises not even a minute later? Especially when said person insulted him over the fact that his parents were dead?

Draco didn't actually mean to say that, though. The only thing he really meant was what he said about it being Potters fault. Sure, he knew it wasn't, not really, but if Potter wasn't so touchy, The Daily Profit wouldn't have had that wretched picture to show the world in the first place.

And sure, Draco knew that Potter was technically right. It was true that the only thing he was worried about was what his father thought about him. If Lucius found out that his son was gay, there's no telling what he'd do. Probably something like send him to one of those church camps to 'pray the gay away' or something equally ridiculous that'll look good to the public.

After Draco called Potter some especially deleterious things and actually saw the shock and the hurt expressed on the other boys face, the way his eyes seemed to dull at the word 'freak', Draco felt some things he rarely ever felt; remorse, guilt and regret. His conscious practically eating him alive from the inside out, his arm reached out to the boy of its own accord, trying to initiate contact with the boy, something he was sure he'd never do, but subconsciously, he knew it was something that only Potter could understand. Body language was practically the ravens native tongue, so if Draco wanted him to understand how truly sorry he was, he had to say it with more than words. So, reaching out to him, Draco was fully prepared to apologize, but it seemed he went a little too far this time because Potter moved beyond reach and told the blond not to touch him, repeating Draco's words from earlier out of spite.

The argument completely slipped away and died, falling bitterly cold on the floor in front of them when Potter called him by his last name.

Draco had no idea why Potter calling him 'Malfoy' would hurt him so much. It was his _name_, something everybody calls him on a regular basis, a name he was incredibly proud to have, so why, when it fell from Potters lips in baritone, did it make him feel like someone was holding his chest in a death grip? Why did it make his throat constrict and his eyes sting as if he was suffocating?

With everyday that passed since then, everyday that he didn't hear from his father, an anxious feeling of trepidation set in, slowly building up inside him until it was almost enough to make him sick. He'd expected he'd at least hear from his mother, but no.

On the other hand, the students of Hogwarts Academy were doing almost exactly what Draco expected. The rumors spread through the hallways like wildfire, like a virus. One of the worst things about it, only second to his constantly smirking debate team, was the girls. The ones who openly giggled and whispered with their friends when they saw him in the halls, or in classes, or pretty much anywhere else.

What was surprising (and slightly infuriating) about the whole situation was that hardly anyone really took it seriously, not even the giggling girls. It was like they just wanted something 'fun' to talk about, something worth spreading gossip. Ever since Potter stood up to Snape on that first day of school and 'proved himself', so to speak, it seemed like the whole school started holding the boy on some pedestal, and Potter was the only one who didn't notice. And now, it was like the entire student body thought the idea of the raven-haired boy having a relationship with Draco was just absurd, absolutely ludicrous. So ludicrous in fact, that to them, it was uproariously hilarious. It seemed Potter thought so too, if the way he'd laughed when he first saw the article was anything to go by. Was it really so unbelievable that someone like Draco Malfoy could ever have a relationship with someone like Harry Potter? Were they _that_ different?

When it got to the point where everyone, even the teachers knew about it, some of the fifth years (the braver ones) thought it would be appropriate to mock him about it. Mostly all of them were in underhanded ways, but only one of them chose a more direct approach.

Asshole extraordinaire, Theodore Nott.

Metaphorically, if Draco was God before he was forced into the dormitory (though even Draco didn't think _that_highly of himself), then Nott was Satan, posing as one of his angels, but wanting nothing more than to be greater than him, waiting for his downfall. And maybe that wasn't a fair comparison, but after what that bastard said to him, Draco figured he deserved it. Who did he think he was anyway? A mini-dictator or something?

And, of course, it all came back to Potter. After Nott actually thought trying to 'bully' him was a good idea, Potter just had to show up and be the big hero, saving the day. The boy had hardly even been there that entire week, but manages shows up at the worst possible time and make him look incompetent, like he couldn't take care of himself and needed his 'boyfriend' to look out for him. Draco knew that was what everyone was going to think and he could not stand it.

Even though he found watching Nott fall face-first into the murky lake incredibly entertaining, Draco blew up at Potter again, basically telling him that it was none of his business, which it wasn't, and that Nott would definitely be keeping his word about getting them back. Then the idiot actually told him that he could, and would, '_fix_ everything'. How moronic can one person possibly get?

Now, it was Thursday morning and Draco was still in bed, though not asleep. Everyone had left already, eager to get to breakfast before classes started. Usually, Draco would be the first to leave, but after all the crap he'd been through that week, he felt he deserved it.

At the moment, he wasn't thinking about the rumors, about The Daily Profit, or about Nott. He wasn't even thinking about Potter. No, what plagued his mind now as he lay awake, staring blankly at the ceiling above him, was the upcoming visit from his mother. Well, technically, he wasn't thinking about that either. It was the fact that when she arrived, he'd be leaving the dorms and going back to the private rooms.

He should be happy that he was going back, but everytime he reminded himself of this, he couldn't help but question what he was going back to. An empty, soundless room that made his aching loneiness that much more apparent? Even though he spent hours trying to find an answer to that, another question was surprisingly simple to answer; what was he leaving?

Dragging himself into the shower, Draco tried to forget about it. It was a futile argument anyway. There was nothing he could do about it, nothing he was willing to do about it. Even if he did go back to the private building, nothing had to change if he didn't want them to, right?

Banishing his thoughts, Draco made his way to Chemistry. Mostly everyone, aside from Severus, was already there when he arrived, which wasn't surprising considering he slept through most of breakfast. He took his seat next to Potter, who was too busy tapping on his desk, humming and scribbling in one of his notebooks to notice.

"Harry," Draco heard Weasley whisper, which was quite unnecessary considering Severus wasn't there yet.

"Hmm?" Potter answered distractedly, but other than that, he spared no attention to the redhead.

"The talent shows tomorrow night. When do we get to hear your song?"

At that, the raven raised a distracted eyebrow. "Tomorrow night," he answered flippantly, like it should've been obvious.

"Aw, Harry," Finnigan whined, joining the conversation. "We're your roommates, doesn't that qualify some special treatment? We should at least get a preview or something."

"Um, well," Potter began, finally turning around to look at them. "I guess there's no harm in giving you guys a little preshow. But tonight's the last night I can practice, so I probably won't get back until sometime after curfew. Tomorrow, okay?"

Severus chose to walk in at that moment, practically slamming the door shut behind him and looking grumpier than usual, which was some feat.

"Potter, come with me," he commanded as soon as he was inside, not sparing the boy a glance as he made his way to his desk. Potter's brow creased in confusion, but he cautiously did as he was told, dragging his feet to buy some time to think.

"Sir?"

Severus interlaced his fingers on top of his desk, giving Potter a hard stare before he chose to speak. "Theodore Nott was escorted off of campus this morning under the expulsion for the possession of and intent to sell illegal substances. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Draco's eyes widened, but he didn't call any attention to himself. Even though he wasn't meant to, he'd heard what Snape had said. Being seated in the front, closest to Snape's desk, had it's advantages and this was one of them. If Snape was going to Potter about this, then there had to be a reasonable explanation for it.

Potter hesitated, but shrugged mock-cluelessly. "Why would I?"

Draco saw Severus' jaw tighten in outrage. "Your arrogance astounds me, Potter. Almost as much as your fathers did," he stated, then continued before Potter could voice his indignation. "Unless I'm seriously mistaken, you don't live in the private building, do you?"

"No, sir," he answered through clenched teeth, glaring at his teacher.

"Then, would you care to tell me why I saw you leaving Nott's private room last night?"

Again, Potter hesitated. "I don't know what you're talking about, Professor," he claimed. His previous anger seemed to have disappeared to make room for the gigantic sign on his forehead that said, 'oh, shit'.

"No, of course, you don't," Severus said sarcastically. He leveled a cold glare at the raven. "You haven't got me fooled, Potter. Not for a minute. I know it was you. The only thing I can't understand is why. Why would you plant drugs on another student? A student you hardly even know at that? Just for the hell of it? To see if you could get away with it? Because you don't like him? ...For revenge?"

Draco look at Severus a bit suspiciously at that last part. Either that was a very lucky guess or the man knew more then he was letting on.

Potter just stood there with a blank expression that told both Snape and Draco everything they wanted to know. That he was guilty, but that he didn't feel any guilt. That he felt the crime was justifiable, and that Nott had deserved it.

"You have until Monday to give me an explanation. If you don't, I will go to the Headmaster about this." Potter sighed.

"And what if I do?"

Snape hesitated, not expecting the boy to practically admit it. "...Then it depends. Now take your seat, Potter," Snape ordered, still glaring at the boy in disgust as he watched the boy walk away.

Draco looked at Potter suspiciously from the corner of his eyes as the boy sat back down. Tearing the corner off of one of the blank pages in his notebook, he jotted down a quick note in his elegantly flowing penmanship, folding it when he was finished. He glanced up to make sure his godfather wasn't watching, then tossed it onto Potters desk.

The raven blinked down at it, then turned his head to Draco, a smirk on his lips. "A love note?" Potter whispered teasingly.

Draco gave him a disgusted look, willing himself not to blush. Potter chuckled softly as he unfolded the note, his eyes scanning it quickly.

_'Illegal substances? Have something to tell me, Potter? Like whether or not you're completely insane?'_

Potters grinned and wrote something below it. He took his time to carefully fold the note into a small triangle, ignoring Draco, who was impatiently tapping his nails on his desk. When the raven decided it was finished, he flicked it over to the blond. Draco rolled his eyes at his childishness as he opened it, revealing Potters messy scrawl.

_'One down.'_

Draco snorted at that, but didn't comment. Did the boy really go as far as to plant drugs in Nott's room? Just to get rid of the problem? He might have seriously underestimated the boy if that was the case. Looking back down at the note, he saw something else scribbled in the corner.

_'Oh, and you write like a girl.'_

He crumbled the note into a ball, sending Potter a nasty glare. Then again, it was entirely possible that he had _over_estimated the raven.

--

He didn't see Potter again until the next day, about an hour before lunch. Everyone was wasting their afternoon in the rec room, celebrating the fact that Dumbledore canceled all classes for the day. For what reason, Draco didn't know, but he had a feeling it had something to do with the man's love for all holidays.

Draco was with his roommates in their unofficially designated area in the far right corner of the room, watching some black and white movie that Finnigan had brought back from the Sexualities Club. At first, everyone protested against it, claiming it would be something of the porn category, but Finnigan assured them that it wasn't.

The movie was based around the nineteen thirties, about two strange young men who end up going to prison for murder. Draco would've found this seriously boring if it hadn't been for the fact that they were lovers. Of course Finnigan would pick something starring two attractive gay men.

All in all, Draco absolutely hated it. One of the men end up getting killed in prison, leaving his lover alone to suffer being held in the cell right next to his killer. After he finally serves his time and gets released, he gets married to a woman and eventually dies himself, somewhere around his late sixties, the initials of his late lover tattooed on his ankle. It wasn't like Draco was expecting a happy ending, but did it have to end so damn tragically? The worst part of it was that it was actually based on a true story.

Finnigan seemed to hate it, too, because as soon as the credits rolled onto the screen, he started ranting about how cruel the world was and how he bet the guy only married a woman to escape social suicide. Thomas tried to calm him down, telling him that people were a lot more bigoted back then, but Blaise didn't seem to want to help the situation any at all, commenting breezily that the top six male serial killers in the United States were gay, which earned him more than a few strange looks.

Thankfully, Potter chose that moment to arrive, his guitar swung around one of his shoulders and looking as if he'd just woken up, which he probably had. Soon, he was standing in front of them, ready to preform and attracting the attention of everyone else in the room.

"Okay, guys, the lyrics are a surprise for tonight, so I'm not gonna sing it now, okay?" Potter told them, cracking his knuckles. Draco couldn't hold back a look of repulse at the disgusting habit.

Draco knew nothing about guitars, but, watching the other boy start off, it was obvious that Potter did. He handled the instrument like a professional, like an extension of himself, going through the whole song and, Draco assumed, not making any mistakes. He saw that Potter was trying not to look down as he played, but when the solo started, he pretty much had to. Draco watched him play through it in fascination, and judging by his other roommates expressions as Potter continued to play, they thought it was fascinating too. The entire time he played, he kept taking glances toward the door for some reason.

As soon as he was finished, the occupants of the room started to applaud. Potter smiled slightly at the praise, taking an exaggerated bow for show.

"Bravo. What an excellent performance," a woman's voice complimented from behind them. Draco recognized it instantly. He turned, his eyes widening when he realized that, yes, it was his mother standing in the doorway. She spotted Blaise and greeted him amiably, who returned the favor, but Draco noticed her eyes kept flicking to Potter. Then, they dropped to him, her smile widening at the sight of him.

"Well, aren't you going to say hello, darling?"

Before Draco could say anything, Potter decided to interject, trying in vain to keep the playful grin off his face. "Yes, Draco, is that any way to greet family? How rude of you." Potter gave Draco a mock-disapproving look before walking over toward his mother. "I don't think Draco ever said he had a sister," the raven commented, holding a hand out to her. Draco couldn't tell if he was being serious or not, but rolled his eyes anyway.

Taking the proffered hand, Narcissa smiled politely. "Narcissa Malfoy. And believe it or not, I am his mother," she corrected, but Draco could tell that she was flattered. He rolled his eyes again as he stood.

Potter beamed at her, and Draco watched as his mother blinked before smiling back. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Malfoy. I'm Harry-"

"Potter, yes. I believe your godfather is one of my many cousins," Narcissa said, earning a few looks to be exchange between the roommates of dorm room number sixty-six at that information.

Potter chuckled. "So I've been told. Draco mentioned that a week ago when-"

"Mother?" Draco interrupted before they could get deeper into conversation, gaining her attention. It was just way too strange seeing Potter speaking to his mother like that. Like they were friends or something.

They both looked at him and Narcissa raised one elegant eyebrow. "Yes, darling?"

"Could I speak with you for a moment? Alone?"

"Of course, dear."

Leading her out into the hall, Draco didn't waste any time. "What are you doing here?"

Narcissa frowned at him. "Mind your manners, Draco. And did I not tell you I'd be coming?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"And here I am. I don't see what the problem is, dear. If you're worried about your father, then there's no need."

Draco gave her a curious look. "Why's that?" Why would he be worried about his father?

Narcissa blinked, then waved the question away. "Lets save that for later. But now, why don't you introduce me to your friends?"

"Friends?" Draco echoed, his brow furrowed.

That was when Potter walked out of the rec room, his guitar in tow, purposefully bumping shoulders with the blonde on the way out, grinning when Draco gave him an annoyed look.

"See you later, Draco. It was nice meeting you, Mrs Malfoy," he said. "You guys are going to see the show tonight, right?"

"We wouldn't miss it. That would be the song you're preforming, I presume?" Narcissa asked, seemingly interested.

Potter nodded. "Yeah, I came up with it about a week ago. Sirius even got The Marauders to perform with me."

Narcissa looked like she was considering something. "Hn. What do you plan to wear?"

"Mother, don't," Draco interjected, knowing what came next. She ignored him.

Potter blinked, confused. "Erm..." he trailed off, shrugging as he gestured toward what he was already wearing.

"Oh, no, no, no. That wont do at all. Have you forgotten that it's Halloween? You must wear a costume, dear. It's tradition," Narcissa told him, starting to lead the boy toward the lobby. Draco sighed, knowing this day would be a long one, and trailed after them.

Before Draco knew it, his mother had ordered custom costumes from one of her favorite stores in Merlin. She'd even had Potter call all of the band members to get _their_ sizes. This was when Potter started to show he was getting a little overwhelmed. He adamantly refused at first, but the woman just could not comprehend the word no, so he eventually gave in. Draco had no idea the raven was such a pushover. His mother had offered to get Draco a costume as well, but he quickly directed her attention back to Potter, who glared at him for it.

A lot of the day was spent watching his mother dote on Potter and watching Potter politely try to escape. For the most part, they seemed to get along fine, especially when it came to teasing Draco, but Narcissa was going way over the top. Though it was pretty hilarious seeing the expression of near panic on the ravens face when his mother offered to fix his hair, Draco had to wonder why his mother was trying so hard. Why was she even bothering to get to know this boy? He finally had the chance to ask at lunch when Potter took the opportunity to disappear as soon as Narcissa got distracted by something the Headmaster said to her, shouting a quick 'bye' and practically running in the opposite direction. Draco couldn't blame him.

Parents had already started showing up for the talent show, so Dumbledore had additional tables put in the cafeteria to seat them all. Draco now knew why classes had been canceled for the day; everyone was too busy. Everyone was rushing about, doing their part to make sure the talent show was a success.

Blaise joined them at lunch, talking to Narcissa about whatever. Draco hardly paid any attention, his mind stuck on when his mother would bring up The Daily Profit. Draco knew she had to have seen the article by now, but he didn't think she had recognized Potter from the picture yet. That was proved to be false when his mother turned to him with a subtle smirk and asked, "Where did that 'new boy' of yours disappear to?"

Blaise choked on his drink from across the table, his shoulders shaking from suppressed laughter.

Draco threw a glare at him, then at Narcissa. "I was wondering when you'd say something about that damn article."

"Language, darling," she chided lightly. "I have to say, the first time I saw it, I was furious. What in the world do you think you were you doing at a _bar_?"

"I didn't even _want_ to go! I just sort of got dragged into it. And we weren't drinking like they said we were," he added, though that technically wasn't true. They did drink, but not enough to actually get drunk. He figured he should probably explain. "But yes, I went there and left with Potter. And yes, it was on his motorcycle. But there wasn't any fight and we were back before curfew."

"I can vouch for that," Blaise added, nodding. "And it wasn't just him, Harry invited all of us."

Though Narcissa acted as if she didn't hear them, Draco knew she did. "I was in the right mind to storm back here and demand an explanation out of you the moment I read it."

Pushing his lunch away, Draco sighed. "Well, what stopped you?"

Narcissa grinned a bit, then winked at him. "The picture," she answered simply.

Draco groaned. "_Please_, Mother. We're not even friends!"

"You're not?" Blaise questioned curiously, earning another glare from Draco. He shrugged, going back to his meal.

"He calls you 'Draco'," she said simply, like that was a reasonable argument, smirking slightly to herself.

Draco gave her an incredulous look. "And...?"

Narcissa laughed, standing. "And you let him."

"That doesn't mean anything," Draco claimed, following her into the entrance building. "Why are you trying to help him anyway? I'm sure he can decide on what he wants to wear without your help."

Narcissa sighed, sending him an exasperated look. "Oh, Draco. He'll have to look good if he wants to win. And with my assistance, he will," she said with no small amount of determination.

"Why do you even care?"

"Because, despite what you say, I know that he's something of a friend to you and I'd like to keep it that way," she answered, ending the argument and approaching her driver by the door, who was waiting for her and carrying what Draco assumed to be the costumes she had ordered earlier.

Draco found out his mother was planning to stay in one of the private rooms for the night, so they spent a good amount of time in there. She was sure to tell Draco that this was where he'd be moving when she left, but he tried to pretend he didn't hear that.

It was a while before the show when Narcissa requested to see his dorm room. It took some cunning on her part, but Draco reluctantly agreed, carrying all of the costumes up for her.

Once they entered, Draco saw that the only ones in the room were Blaise, Potter and... the Weaselette? Potter was on the couch next to her, going through a cardboard box that had the words 'Drama Club' written on one side in big black letters. Blaise was on the couch across from them, his nose in a book.

"These are great, Ginny. Thanks," Potter said, beaming at her. She giggled a bit, standing and picking her bag up off the floor.

"No problem, Harry. I'll see you boys later. Oh, and break a leg tonight, Harry," she said cheerfully. Stepping around Draco to get to the door, she gave him a dirty look that made the blond sneer at her disgustedly.

"Oh, hey, Draco. Mrs Malfoy," Potter greeted, standing. Narcissa nodded to him, looking around the room in apparent approval.

"What was the Weaselette doing in here?" Draco asked crossly before he could stop himself.

"Draco!" Narcissa scolded him. Blaise, too, sent him a disapproving look.

"_Ginny_ is letting me borrow some masks from her Drama Club for the band. She thought it would look more dramatic," Potter answered easily, stressing the girls name as he held up one of the small black and white masks. The sides were bejeweled and they were only big enough to cover about half the face.

"That's a marvelous idea. Though I hope you're not planning to wear one," Narcissa commented, taking one of the costumes from Draco and handing it to Potter. She didn't give him a chance to speak. "Now come with me and we'll see what we can do with that mop," she said, leading him into the bathroom.

Draco saw Blaise smirk at them as the door closed and he rolled his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that day. He tossed the rest of the costumes onto the couch, hoping they'd wrinkle. Kicking off his shoes, he sat down at his desk to finish some homework from the day before.

"Did he escape down the drain?" Draco drawled when she came out and Potter didn't.

"He's changing," Narcissa answered, sighing as she took a seat on the couch next to Blaise. "That boy has the most unmanageable hair I've ever seen."

Draco smirked, silently agreeing. After a moment, Potter walked out of the bathroom and Draco had to look twice.

"I _refuse _to wear a bow tie," Potter stated seriously, very disgruntled as he held up the offending piece of clothing as if it was infected, looking at an amused Narcissa with stubborn eyes. Blaise glanced up from his book and snorted.

Draco bit his lip as they started to twitch upwards, staring at the boy in front of him. A snort he couldn't restrain captured the ravens attention and he turned to look at the blond quizzically. Unable to control it, Draco burst out laughing.

Potter was wearing a ridiculously formal suit that looked like it came straight out of the Victorian era and Draco was reminded immediately of the film he'd watched earlier that day. His white, double buttoned shirt, which was opened collared since Potter didn't bother to button it all the way up, was made to ride over his low, dark gray vest and the shoulder-padded tail-coat had way too many buttons. His pants were wide legged and black to match the coat. That same string necklace was wrapped around his neck and the blond had to wonder if the boy ever took it off.

Though the drastic change of clothing was hilarious, the way his hair was fixed was practically sidesplitting. Draco was so accustomed to seeing that wild, messy mane, that with how it looked now, Potter was nearly unrecognizable to him. It looked even darker now and he must have had at least a couple handfuls of gel in it to get it slicked back the way they wore it way back when. Despite this, the ravens fringe was already falling back into his face.

He looked older somehow, now that his hair was mostly out of his face. One thing Draco hadn't noticed before was that Potter had another earring at the top of his right ear, which had always been covered by his hair. The blond had to wonder if it had hurt as much as he thought it would to have a needle stabbed through cartilage.

Potter gave him a glare. "What do you think you're laughing at?"

"D-Didn't you forget your top hat, Potter?" Draco wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye.

"Hey, what'd you expect? I wasn't gonna be something cliche like a vampire or a cowboy."

Draco snorted. "So you chose a nineteenth century mobster?"

Potter smirked, grabbing one of the masks from the coffee table. "Listen here, ya bunny. It'd be a fedora lid, not a top hat, see," he said, using a fake, over-exaggerated New York accent. He fixed the mask on Draco's head. "Now shut ya mug 'fore you find yourself takin' a dirt nap." He pulled it forward and let go, making it snap as it connected with Draco's face.

"Ow!"

Narcissa smiled as she watched her son rip the mask off before smacking the other boy with it, commenting that 'someone's been watching too many old movies'. She noted how different Draco seemed from the last time she'd seen him. Before school started, he'd been despondent and depressed, emotionless and cold, but now, he seemed content, almost happy. He seemed... thawed somehow. Narcissa couldn't remember the last time she heard him laugh like that. It was obvious to her how much he had changed and she knew it had to have something, if not everything, to do with his raven-haired roommate.

It had been a total coincidence that Draco had been placed in the same room as the Potter boy, but Narcissa was thankful that he had. The rest of the world might not think so, but Potter seemed like a good influence. Though Draco refused to admit that they were friends, Narcissa had a feeling it was much more than that, at least on Draco's part. That was why she wanted to get to know the boy. And now that she had, she could be nothing but supportive of whatever relationship the two shared.

"And just how much vegetable oil did you put on your head, Potter? I don't think even Snape could get it _that_ greasy," Draco smirked, trying to get a rise out of the boy as he was prone to do.

Instead, Potter gave him a grin, green eyes sparkling deviously. "Vegetable oil? Is that what was in that tall blue bottle your mom found in _your_ locker?"

Draco's smirk fell. "You didn't," he denied, glaring. Potter nodded, looking exceedingly proud of himself. "Do you have any idea how expensive that stuff is?! You're getting me a new one," the blond ordered, folding his arms across his chest and giving the raven a look that said he didn't have a choice.

Potter scoffed. "Oh, please. You have more beauty products than any girl I've ever met. What normal guy has two bottles of Nair in their locker?"

"What can I say, Potter? I know it's something you wouldn't understand, but perfection like this isn't easy." Draco sniffed snobbishly, looking down at his nails. He ignored the incredulous look Potter was sending him.

"I'm sorry, would you and your ego like to be alone?"

Draco looked up at him indifferently. "If I said yes, would you leave?"

A snicker from their other roommate earned their attention, interrupting their banter.

"You two fight like some old married couple," Blaise stated, earning a laugh from Narcissa. Draco glared at her, feeling his face heat up.

"Mother!"

"Well, I want a divorce," Potter stated mock-stubbornly, getting another laugh out of Blaise and Draco's mother.

Draco gave him a shove, angry and embarrassed, but in that moment, he was able to forget about everything that had been plaguing his mind the entire week before. The article, his father, the rumors, the fights he had with Potter, the fact that he'd be leaving the dorms soon, everything. And he was almost able to believe the raven's promise that he would actually fix everything.

Almost.

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**Author Note:**Can anyone say filler? Geez, was it just me or was this chapter as lame to read as it was to write? Sorry for the lateness, but you can mostly blame the weather for that. The next chapter will be the talent show, I promise.

So, should Draco move back to the private building? Vote for what you want, okay? This will be entirely up to you guys.

Leave me a review!


	10. Give Them a Show

**Rating:** It isn't now, but it'll be M eventually.

**Warnings: **Slash. OOC-ness. Profanity. Future drug use.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the series. Nor any of the songs mentioned in this chapter.

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**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Ten**

**Give Them a Show**

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Dumbledore had tried his hardest to make the Hogwarts auditorium look scary for the talent show, that much was obvious. The lights, which just the day before could put the brightest of tanning beds to shame, were dimmed by the gigantic dark screen hanging from the ceiling. Fire hazard? Probably. Plastic, glow-in-the-dark skeletons and cobwebs were hanging from the walls along with other cheap, department store-bought Halloween decorations. Even he teachers had dressed up. Except for Snape, who had outright refused. Which was fine because the man was scary enough already. The point is, Dumbledore had succeeded in making the room look scary. Not 'frightening' scary, more like 'so-corny-it's-scary' scary. But it's the thought that counts, right? Or does that only qualify when someone gives you a lame gift?

"Harry! Sign this."

Harry had just entered the auditorium, only a half an hour before the talent show would start. Mostly everyone was already seated, waiting for the first act to begin. Harry didn't think he was one to get stage fright, but he was act number five and Sirius and the rest of The Marauders had yet to arrive. And they had all of the equipment! He made a mental note to have a talk with his godfather about the definition of punctuality. Admittedly, he was starting to get a little nervous and Lucky Charms Jr. thrusting a clipboard in his face wasn't helping the matter at all.

Said Leprechaun was gazing at him up and down, taking in his choice of attire. Harry had to wonder how Seamus had even recognised him in the first place. Even he had hardly been able to discern his own reflection in the mirror with how he looked now.

"I'm a little busy Seamus. Can't this wait?"

"Not really. Look, just sign it, please? It'll only take a sec," the Irishman pleaded, shaking the pen insistently.

Harry sighed, readjusting his guitar over his shoulder before grabbing the pen and quickly jotting down his name, not bothering to read it first.

"Thanks. Oh, hey, Ron. Sign this," Seamus said as soon as he spotted Ron and Dean enter the room, taking the clipboard from Harry and handing it to the redhead. Harry took this as his opportunity to leave.

"'The Hogwarts Gay-Straight Student Alliance Petition'? Seamus, what the hell is this?" Ron questioned.

Harry stopped in his tracks, turning back to them. "Wait. What did I just sign?"

"Seamus watched a movie about discrimination and now he's decided to become an activist," Dean explained. It was stated dryly, but looking at him, Harry could tell he was proud of his boyfriend. Mostly because Dean was also carrying around a clipboard.

Ron blinked, shaking his head. "What?"

"It's a petition. I asked Dumbledore if I could start a Gay-Straight Alliance and he said that if I get enough student signatures, he'll approve it. I made posters and flyer's, and even buttons. Look," Seamus said, reaching into his pocket and taking out a rainbow striped button that read 'GSA', holding it up for them to see.

Behind him was a table that Harry hadn't noticed before. Two boxes were set up on it, both filled to the brim with said flyer's and more petition papers. It was kind of unorganized and messy, but it was a start.

"He did all of this in one day?" Ron questioned.

"Apparently," Dean shrugged.

"You guys wanna join?" Seamus asked hopefully.

Ron nodded. "Got my vote," he said, signing his name in the space under Harry's. "What about you, Harry?"

Harry thought about it. "Can I have a button?"

"Um, sure," Seamus assented, handing him another one from his pocket.

"Okay," Harry agreed, putting it in his vest because, well, rainbow didn't really go with his outfit. "You might want to try telling people what they're signing though. Otherwise, it's entrapment," he teased.

"He already tried that. As soon as they found out what it was, they wanted nothing to do with it," Dean answered.

"How many signatures do you have?" Harry asked curiously.

"So far, Ron's the seventeenth," Seamus answered, trying not to come off as too disappointed.

It didn't come as much of a surprise to Harry, considering the auditorium mostly consisted of the offspring of rich, political captains of industry and their parents, but of a room absolutely crowded with people, only seventeen signed a petition for a worth-while cause? That was ridiculous. Though he thought it might have something to do with the fact that they were set up next to the door where nobody would notice, right below the light switches.

"Somebody help me move this," Harry requested, moving toward the table. Dean was the first one to catch on, and with his help, they moved it right in front of the doorway where no one could possibly miss it. "There. Now this will be the first thing they see."

Seamus gave him a grateful smile. "Thanks, Harry."

Taking the button from Seamus' hand, Harry pinned it onto the boys shirt. "Don't let it get you down, Seamus. I'll help out as much as I can."

The Irishman blinked. "You will?"

"Yep. If you do me one small favor."

Forty minutes later, Harry was pissed. He was backstage, trying to ignore everyone around him and mentally preparing himself. Act four had just started and still, no Marauders in sight. He was trying to keep his calm, but they were supposed to be up next. Backstage was in pandemonium, so he was having trouble trying to control his temper. Act seven broke her violin string and was now having a hissy fit, act nine thought he was coming down with food poisoning, and act eleven was throwing up in the bathroom from stage fright. And who was to deal with all of this chaos?

"Harry, you're up next. -Ms Parkinson, please try to calm down. They're bringing you a spare as we speak!- Where's Sirius?" Remus asked him distractedly. Why he had volenteered to help out with the talent show, Harry hadn't a clue.

"Still not here," Harry answered, hardly glancing up from his guitar. Remus had asked him the same question fifteen minutes ago.

Remus gave him a sympathetic look. "Still? Did you try calling him?"

"His cell's turned off," Harry replied.

"Well, let me see what I can do, alright? You wouldn't mind playing last, would you?"

Harry looked up at him hopefully. "You could do that?"

"I think I could get away with it. -Ms Parkinson, if you break that instrument, we can not get you a new one!"

Harry laughed in relief. "That'd be great, Rem. Thanks," he replied gratefully.

"No problem. -Mr Corner, that is not Pepto-Bismol!- Try not to worry, Harry. I'm sure he'll be here," Remus told him, bringing a hand up to tidy Harry's hair a bit, then making a face as he wiped the gel off on his sweater.

About an hour later, Harry was pacing like a lion trapped in a cage. Almost growling like one, too. Act eleven had already been called to the stage and Harry had almost literally burned tread marks into the floor. Just when he was about to just say 'fuck it' and leave, Sirius came rushing backstage along with the rest of his band, who were all panting and carrying all of the necessary equipment. Once he saw them, Harry didn't give them a chance to catch their breath.

"Where the hell have you guys been?! Does 'eight o' clock sharp' mean anything to you?"

"Harry-" Sirius started, gasping for breath from his run into the building, only to be cut off by Harry.

"'Time is irrelevant', I know. Oh, you are _so_ lucky that Remus bumped us up to act twelve," Harry seethed.

"No, Harry. Listen, it's Peter. He's-"

"Save it, okay? We're up next. Now, here's your costumes. There's the dressing rooms. Go change and make it quick," Harry ordered, practically throwing the costumes at him and pushing them into the other room.

After the band came back out, Harry assigned them their tasks of setting up the stage. Act eleven had already finished and the curtains had closed. Harry job was to set up the props, which was way more difficult than he made it look if only for the fact that there were so many of them. It took longer than Harry expected and even longer with Remus pushing them, but eventually, everything was done and up to meeting Harry's standards.

Harry downed a bottle of water and leaned on one of the beamers. He hadn't even went on yet and he was already tired. Sirius was standing next to him, pulling his mask on and tugging at his uncomfortable suit, which was exactly what the rest of The Marauders were doing. Harry had made them all tie their hair back, which would've made them look at least semi-presentable if they didn't all have the scruffy, unkempt, 'rock star' look. Like Harry, they all refused to wear their bow ties, except for the drummer who was using his as a bandanna. At this point, Harry was too tired to care.

"Calm down, Harry. It's just a talent show," Harry told himself. "God, I hope he doesn't kill me," he breathed, gathering his courage as he listened to the Headmaster himself introduce him.

Sirius laughed, giving him a slap on the back as they walked out on stage. They all took their places and Harry stepped up to the vintage microphone, the one he himself had picked out. It was completely metal and huge and incredibly old fashioned, but Harry loved it from the moment he saw it in Sirius's dusty old storage unit. Tapping on it twice for sound check, Harry smiled. The curtains hadn't even opened yet, but it was something about the adrenalin of being in front of an audience that could always put a grin on his face. Once the fog machines took their desired effect and covered the floor, he put on his best 'up to no good' expression and signaled Remus to pull the curtain.

When it opened, Harry took in all of the faces, most of them bored. Hopefully, he could change that. Scanning the audience, Harry searched for two heads of platinum blond hair. He found them in the second row, Narcissa watching him with rapt attention and Draco pretending to be interested in his nails even as he constantly kept glancing up at the stage. If possible, Harry's smile widened even more and put his hand up in semblance of a wave. He took a deep breath and pulled the mic closer, sending a short apologetic look to Draco before speaking.

--

Draco was bored out of his mind. If his mother wasn't here (and if Potter wasn't preforming), there was no way he'd even be here. Almost every act so far had been incredibly dull. Five mediocre singers, two classical musicians, three dance groups (which was basically just a bunch of co-ed cheerleaders who thought themselves break-dancers), and one magician.

The magician had to be Draco's favorite so far. Not because he was any good, but because when he went to pull a dove from a bunch of scarfs, the bird dropped dead on the stage with an echoing thump. It earned him a whack in the head from his mother, but Draco couldn't quite keep himself from snickering when the wannabe magician ran off stage, crying and screaming for Nurse Pomfrey with his pet cradled in the palms of his hands.

When it came to disasterous preformances, that had to rank number one, but number two had to come in close. Pansy was act number seven and she had decided to play The Devils Trill, which definitely wasn't the wisest choice. It was one of the fastest, most difficult things to play. And Draco knew the only reason Pansy chose to play it was because she knew it was his absolute favorite when it came to the violin.

After getting halfway through the song without making any mistakes, she started getting way too confident. She played harder than was necessary, turning the smooth, quick notes into nothing but loud screeching. She didn't seem to take notice though and tried playing through the entire song like that, which eventually resulted in breaking a string toward the very end. For a moment, she just stared at the instrument in shock, then she let out a very short, very frustrated scream and threw it onto the floor, instantly breaking it on contact as she stormed off stage. Draco would've laughed, but his eardrums were still recovering from having to hear the girl completely butcher his favorite song. He thought he saw his mother smirk, though, before she started the pity applause.

To Draco's left sat Blaise, who had spent the entire show playing with a laser pointer, and to his right sat his mother. They were both starting to look just as bored as he was now. Next to his mother was Severus, who was obviously trying not to fall asleep as the show continued.

Draco sunk into his hard metal seat as he waited for the last act to begin, which he knew had to be Potter. It was taking a while and the audience was starting to get a bit restless. Draco was beginning to wonder what the hold up was when the curtains started to open, fog billowing out from under it. Despite himself, he leaned forward in his seat, but when Narcissa sent him a knowing smirk, he sat back, indifferently buffing his nails on his shirt.

Potter looked positively mischevious on stage and it wouldn't be too far of a stretch to say villainous. There was something about his expression that said he was up to something and the grin on his face was nothing short of roguish. The stage looked completely different from the last time the curtains opened and Draco figured this was why it took so long for them to get on stage. Behind Potter was the ravens godfather and the rest of The Marauders, dressed up in matching masks and suits. The suits were subtly different from Potters, making him stand out even more due to the fact that the raven was the only one not wearing a mask.

The audience grew silent as they took in the appearance of the last performer of the evening, their expressions ranging from questioning interest and expectation to distaste and downright aversion. The Headmaster was front row-center, his world-weary blue eyes twinkling madly behind his frames.

The raven-haired boy was scanning the audience and Draco struggled not to look too interested when his gaze landed on him. The raven sent a wave in his general direction and smiled. Narcissa smiled back, but Draco was too distracted by the almost apologetic look Potter gave him a second later to do anything. The feeling of dread spread in the pit of his stomach as Potter pulled the microphone closer.

"I know a lot of you have heard of the rumors about me and a certain blonde," Potter spoke into the mic, his grin turning playful.

Draco's eyes widened and he almost gasped in realization as he felt his stomach give an uncomfortable lurch. "He wouldn't dare..."

"Oh, yes, he would," Blaise corrected, leaning forward in his seat and grinning in anticipation. He was no longer bored to say the least.

The entire room was intently fixed on whatever Potter had to say next. Even Snape was fully awake now, but unlike most of the audience that wore the expression of intrigue now, he wore one of wary suspicion. It was his firm belief that no Potter should ever be in possession of a microphone in front of an audience.

"So you're probably wondering about this 'relationship' we apparently have," Potter continued, using finger quotations on the word 'relationship'. He chuckled softly, but loud enough for everyone to hear, and shook his head. Giving the audience a little smirk from behind the microphone, he lazily brought a hand up and snapped his fingers. Immediately, the lights went out, causing startled gasps to fill the audience. Four white lights flickered on above him, drowning the stage and Potter in black and white.

"Well, this is for anyone who actually believe that," the raven announced, releasing his grip on the microphone and grasping his guitar. The music started a moment later and Draco felt a shudder run up his spine as Potter voice echoed through the sound system.

_"Love me cancerously._

_Like the salt-sore soaked in the sea._

_'High maintance' means _

_you're a gluttonous queen._

_Narcissistic and mean."_

Potter snapped again. This time it was spot lights below the stage that came on and started moving in a spiraling motion as the music and Potter's voice and the music grew stronger.

_"Kill me romantically._

_Fill my soul with vomit_

_then ask me for a piece of gum._

_Bitter and dumb_

_you're my sugarplum._

_You're awful, I love you!"_

"Oh, God," Draco moaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. His other hand had the arm of his chair in a death grip. He couldn't understand what Potter was trying to achieve with insulting him like this. Utterly embarrassing him like this! The contradicting lyrics made him want to curl up in his uncomfortable chair and die. He knew Potter didn't have any maleficent intent and that he was probably only trying to help in some strange, Potter-like way, but was this really the right way to go about it? Draco seriously doubted it.

_"He moves through moonbeams slowly._

_He knows just how to hold me._

_And when your edges soften_

_your body is my coffin._

_I know he drains me slowly._

_He wears me down to bones in bed._

_Must be the sign on my head that says, oh..._

_Love me dead!_

_Love me dead!"_

Despite his mortification, Draco was in rapture as he stared up at Potter, like most of the audience. The boy looked completely at home on stage, ridiculously happy and constantly moving in time with the beat. His voice... It was deep, seductive when necessary and in combination with his playful, almost devilish expression, Draco had to resist the urge to pull down on his collar.

_You're a faith-healer on T.V._

_You're an office park without any trees._

_Corporate and cold._

_Gushing for gold._

_Leave me alone._

_You suck so passionately"_

Potter made sure to get the double meaning across with a positively lecherous grin, if that could even be considered a double meaning. Looking around, Draco noticed that about every parent in the room looked as if they wanted to cover their childrens ears. That is, except for his own mother, who only chuckled at Potter's perversion.

_"You're a parasitic psycho_

_filthy creature finger bangin' my heart._

_You call me a drunk._

_Does the fun ever start?_

_You're hideous, and sexy!_

_He moves through moonbeams slowly._

_He knows just how to hold me._

_And when your edges soften_

_your body is my coffin._

_I know he drains me slowly._

_He wears me down to bones in bed._

_Must be the sign on my head that says, oh..._

_Love me dead!_

_Love me dead!_

_Wow! Augh."_

The guitar solo started, Potter himself playing it instead of his godfather, who Draco assumed should've been playing it considering he was lead guitar. Draco had already heard it, but it sounded even more impressive now. Though the impact was lessened by the fact that he was practically steaming from the lyrics.

The entire song was completely mocking Draco's situation. It was like Potter was making fun of himself, Draco, the rumors, and everyone who believed them. Every once in a while, Potter glanced down at him and every time he did, Draco could see a flicker of uncertainty in his expression that almost made the blond rethink beating Potter to a pulp the next time he saw him.

"Whoo!" Blaise shouted, along with most of the audience members under the age of thirty.

A lot of the crowd had even begun singing along with the incredibly catchy chorus. It was certain now that Potter was going to win. Out of the five annual talents shows Draco had attended at Hogwarts, no one had ever gained quite this much adoration for their performances.

"Leave it to Potter to turn a talent show into a rock concert," Snape complained, but even he was having a hard time trying to keep his foot from tapping.

_"Love me cancerously..."_

Potter whistled along, sparking another loud cheer from his now admiring fans.

_"Brrrot-dot-da-d-da-da!_

_Brrrot-dot-da-d-da-da!_

_How's your 'new boy'? _

_Does he know about me? _

_You've got the mark of the beast."_

Draco heard his mother giggle from beside him at that 'new boy' line and groaned. He cursed Potter's pseudo-witticism.

_"You're born of a jackal, you're beautiful!_

_He moves through moonbeams slowly._

_He knows just how to hold me._

_And when your edges soften_

_your body is my coffin._

_I know he drains me slowly._

_He wears me down to bones in bed._

_What about the sign on my head that says, Oh!_

_Love me dead!_

_Love me dead!_

_Love me dead!_

_Love me dead!_

_Ooh! _

_Love me Dead!"_

The lights went out on stage, casting the entire room in darkness yet again, but this time, the crowd definitely didn't gasp. Draco couldn't bring himself to actually look around to see their reaction, but that didn't keep him from hearing them amongst the roaring applause.

"...And _you_ actually thought they were together..."

"...I told you so! There's no way a guy like that could be gay..."

"...Even if he was, do you really think he'd choose someone like Malfoy?..."

"That boy is ingenious," Narcissa stated, smirking as she listened to everybodys reaction.

Draco was gaping, but that didn't stop him scoffing at his mothers comment. Ingenious? More like foolhardy. He couldn't have known he'd spark this type of reaction, could he? Whether he did or not, everything looked like it was all going back to normal, which was basically mostly everyone just abhorring Draco for being a Malfoy or a traitor. And he couldn't help but feel the least bit grateful for it.

After the votes had been tallied, Dumbledore was on his way toward the stage to announce this years winner. He hadn't even made it passed the steps before he was interupted. Pansy Parkinson stood directly in his path, her arms crossed over her chest and wearing an outraged expression.

"I demand Potter be disqualified!"

The Headmaster blinked. "Under the grounds of what, Ms Parkinson?"

"Cheating!"

"Cheating?"

"Yes! The rest of those freaks are professionals. The rule book says that all participants have to attend Hogwarts Academy," she explained slowly, as if it was her that made the rules instead of the man she was speaking to.

"Do you have any proof that they don't?"

Pansy let out an indignant huff. "You know as well as I do that they do _not_ go to this school, but if you actually need more proof other than seeing them with your own two eyes, why don't you try asking them?"

Dumbledore sighed. It looked like he had no other choice.

--

Harry was by the door, getting signatures for Seamus' petition from everyone who approached him, wanting to congratulate him on his performance and offer their apologies over him being disqualified. After Seamus came through on controlling the lights, he figured he owed the Irish boy. He did say he'd help out and it wasn't like he had anything better to do.

Harry glanced over to his godfather and laughed. He'd said he was going over to speak to Narcissa, but from the looks of it, Remus was the one speaking to her. Sirius was too busy picking on Snape.

Despite being disqualified, he was in very high spirits. He'd forgotten how much he truly enjoyed this, forgotten this feeling like he was coming down from an incredible high. The praise of who he considered family, Remus and Sirius telling him how proud they were of him and how blown away they were at hearing how he had improved. Performing was when he was at his happiest, and performing with his godfather just made it that much more exhilarating.

"Parasitic psycho, huh?"

Good mood gone.

Harry winced as he heard Draco's voice and turned to face him. The blond was standing with his hands on his hips, one eyebrow raised in expectance.

"I was mad at you at the time?" It came out as more of a question than the excuse he'd been aiming for.

"Uh-huh," Draco responded, not convinced.

Harry frowned. "Well, it worked didn't it?"

After a moment, Draco nodded, dropping his gaze and relaxing his stance. "I'm, uh, sorry you didn't win."

Harry laughed. "Whoever said I wanted to win?"

"Oh, come on, Potter. You know you did," Draco accused.

"Okay, yeah. I kind of did," Harry admitted, the corner of his lips twitching upward. "But I got something even better."

"The opportunity to embarrass me?"

"No. Though that was a bonus," he smirked, tongue in cheek. "The Marauders are buying my song. Their gonna have to change a few of the lyrics, but no biggie."

"I have to say, Potter, I think I underestimated you," Draco admitted, something of a smile on his face.

"Yeah? Does that mean we're cool?"

Draco snorted, crossing his arms again. "I suppose I can forgive you for running my name though the dirt, yes."

"I told you I could fix it," Harry stated smugly. Draco gave him an annoyed look.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Potter. There's still the rest of the world to worry about."

"I think I can take on the world," Harry replied, looking as if he was considering it. He grinned when Draco rolled his eyes at him.

"After what you pulled here tonight, I don't think I should doubt you," Draco told him, looking away when the raven gave him a wide smile and Harry could've sworn he saw the blond blush. He grinned wider at the thought.

"Still, you've done enough. It really isn't any of your business."

"Hey, you weren't the only one they insulted. Have you ever thought that maybe I took offence to it as well?"

"No," Draco answered bluntly, snorting when Potter pouted at him. "Oh, please, Potter. You thought the entire thing was hilarious. I'm surprised you even cared enough to do something about it."

"Well, I probably wouldn't have, but it was bothering you, so..." Harry trailed off, shrugging.

"That's the only reason?" Draco laughed, admittedly a little flattered that Potter did all this just for his benefit. "And what you did to Nott?"

Harry laughed. "I like to think of it as speeding up karma."

"How juridical of you, Potter," Draco stated dryly.

"Thanks."

"I still can't believe that performance of yours actually worked," Draco said suddenly, leaning back on the wall behind him.

"Neither can I, but I guess it's just like Blaise said; people will hear what they want to hear and they'll pretty much believe the exact opposite of what you say. So I just told them what they wanted to hear."

"So you had to lie to them to get them to believe the truth," Draco concluded.

"Hey, I didn't make the rules, I just found the loophole," Harry shrugged.

"Well, whatever you did, I think I should... probably..."

"Thank me?"

"Apologize," Draco corrected.

"Oh?" Harry raised a brow in surprise and hopped up on the table, leaning back on his arms.

Draco sighed, avoiding eye-contact. "I shouldn't have blamed you for... Well, anything really. And what I called you... I didn't mean that. It was totally uncalled for. I just, I didn't know who to blame at the time and I guess you just got killed in the crossfire. And, uh, well..." Draco struggled for the words, then dropped his head in defeat and sighed, flicking the hair from his face. "Wow, I really do suck at apologizing."

"You're getting better at it," Harry told him softly. Draco looked up at him and sighed.

"I'm sorry," the blond told him, trying to sound as sincere as possible.

Harry smiled slightly. "Well, I would say that I forgive you, but I already have."

Draco blinked. "When?"

"The second after I called you Malfoy," he answered. He felt his stomach drop when Draco dropped his gaze. "I'm sorry, too."

"For what? That _is_ my name, you know."

"No. Your name's Draco. Like mines Harry, not _Potter_," Harry informed him, a teasing smile on his lips.

"Don't push it, Potter."

Harry laughed. "Well, I guess we're as close as we ever were," he said, jumping back down from the table.

There was a short silence, Draco just watching the ravens godfather make fun of Severus' hair and Harry wondering how to bring this next subject up. After a moment of deliberation, he decided to go with the direct approach. Subtlety never had been one of his strong suits.

"What about your dad?"

Draco sent Potter a quizzical look at how sudden that question was asked. He wondered if it had just occurred to Potter or if it'd been on his mind for a while. Whatever the case, the thought of Potter worrying about him wasn't entirely displeasing.

"...I think I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

"So you don't care if he thinks you're 'some irresponsible, bar-hopping queer'?" Harry quoted, a brow raised.

"I do, but not as much as I did before."

"Well, good. Then you'll have no problem signing this," Harry grinned, passing him the petition from off of the table.

"A petition for a Gay-Straight Alliance? I-I didn't know you were-" Draco cut himself off before he could actually say the word.

Harry laughed. "Gay? I'm not."

"Oh," he said, forcing himself not to sound disappointed and cursing himself for, yet again, jumping to conclusions. He seemed to do that a lot when it came to Potter.

"It was Seamus' idea. I told him I'd help out. He's an activist now."

"When did that happen?"

"Somewhere around noon," Harry shrugged, watching Draco read the petition. "Well? Are you looking for the fine print or are you gonna sign it?"

"I cant," Draco stated, causing the other boy to let out an aggravated sigh.

"What's wrong _now_? It's not like you actually have to join. And there's no way your dad could find out about it, so-"

Harry stopped himself when he saw the smirk on the other boy's lips. Draco looked at him with an expression somewhere between amused and exasperated.

"Because I don't have a pen, Pothead."

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**Authors Note:** As you probably already know, the song is Love Me Dead by Ludo. If you haven't already heard it, you should check it out. I've tweaked the lyrics a bit, as you can tell. I changed 'she' to 'he' and 'her' to 'your' for obvious reasons. And that part, 'you call me a drunk' is actually, 'you call me up drunk'.

The Gay-Straight Alliance thing was inspired by a friend of mine that started one at my old school. The gay bashing was really getting out of hand there. One kid had to transfer schools because of it and he wasn't even gay. I didn't think it would, but the club actually made a difference.

Tell me what you guys think, alright? And I'm open for suggestions, so if any of you have any ideas, don't hesitate to tell me.

Reviews are love!


	11. Harlots and Nostalgia

**Rating:** It isn't now, but it'll be M eventually.

**Warning: **Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness. Future drug use.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the series. Nor any of the songs mentioned in this chapter.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Eleven**

**Harlots and Nostalgia**

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Soon after signing Finnigan's petition, Narcissa pulled Draco aside, telling him they needed to talk. She didn't say what it was about, but Draco was almost certain it had to do with Lucius. That was something they needed to, but had yet to talk about. And though he didn't even want to think about what his father had to say, he knew it was best to get it over with sooner rather than later.

Narcissa didn't seem to be on the same page, though. Draco had to wait while she took her time saying goodbye to Severus, her cousin, Lupin, Potter, and all of her many other acquaintances. Then she gall to tell _him_ to stop procrastinating and hurry up, insisting they go back to the dorm. No doubt for privacy reasons, considering the auditorium was still somewhat crowded, despite the talent show having ended over an hour ago. Parents, students, and teachers alike had all seemed to designate the room in which to socialize.

They were almost to the door, but, of course, his mother (once again) got distracted. This time by none other than the newest Mrs Nott, which would be Theodore Nott's second stepmother, and no matter how much he wanted to hear how _that _conversation went, he'd much rather wait outside for her. And he would've done so, but Potter caught him on the way out, looking much more hyperactive than usual. This was normally the result of too many RedBulls, Draco knew.

"Draco! Guess what." Draco sighed, then rolled his eyes at Potter's immaturity when the raven didn't continue.

"What?" Draco asked with no small amount of impatience.

Potter ignored his snappy tone happily. Either that or he was too hyped up on liquid-sugar to notice.

"_I_ just got invited to Volume for _the_ costume party of the year," he finally declared.

Draco raised a brow, wondering how Potter planned to get into one of the most popular clubs in Merlin. Normally, Potter probably wouldn't be able to pass for twenty-one, but dressed how he was now, it was certainly possible. He pondered on this for a moment before deciding that he really shouldn't care. Not that he did, of course.

"Well, congratulations," he drawled. "Now, move."

"And it's not _only _me that's going," the raven continued, once again blocking Draco's attempt to leave as he tried to sound appealing. "Ron and 'Moine are coming. Seamus and Dean are coming. And if I could find Blaise, he'd be coming, too."

Draco gave him an exasperated look. "What makes you think I care, Potter?"

"Well, I just so happen to be in need of a date," Potter hinted suedo-suggestively, leaning in too close for Draco's comfort with a mock-lecherous grin, making the blond cross his arms to put some space between them.

"Tempting as that sounds, I'll have to pass," Draco answered, forcing the sarcasm.

"Aw, come on! I doubt you'd be recognized if you dressed up. And if we get you a harlot costume, we'd match!"

Draco laughed, amused despite himself. "As much as I would just _love_ to accompany you, dress in drag, and run the risk of having my ears bleed from the _volume _of Volume, I'm afraid I have other priorities at the moment." Potter laughed at the blonde's unrestrained sarcasm. "Mother told me that we 'need to talk'," he explained.

Potter winced. "That's never good."

Draco was about to give him a 'no shit' look, but was distracted by his mothers approach, spotting her from over Potter's shoulder. She wasn't alone, either. Mrs Nott wasn't trailing too far behind her, chattering animatedly, and from the irritated look on Narcissa's face, it was obvious she was desperate to escape the other woman's presence.

"...Wouldn't want everyone to mistake your _only_ son as a... Well, you know," the woman said, whispering as if just _talking _about homosexuality was taboo. You couldn't tell by looking at her, but Draco knew that Narcissa was grinding her teeth and probably fighting the urge to slap this sorry excuse for a stepmother. "So don't hesitate to call if you need any pointers on how to deal with the press."

Narcissa seriously doubted this woman had much experience with the press, if any at all, but responded anyway.

"Of course. I've no doubt in the Nott expertice when it comes to bad publicity." Mrs Nott seemed to take this as a compliment, obviously not picking up on the insult it was intended to be. Draco, however, did, and if Potter's snort was anything to go by, so did he.

"It was just _wonderful_ seeing you again, but I really must be going. Be sure to give your men my absolute best, won't you, dear?"

Narcissa raised an elegant eyebrow at that, knowing the woman probably had no clue what her, her son, or her husbands names were aside from 'Malfoy'. She fought the urge to scoff, ignoring the fact that she didn't know the other woman's first name either. But who did she think she was, calling a woman at least fifteen years her senior, '_dear_'?

"Definitely. And the same goes for Theodore, of course" she said purposely, feeling no small amount of satisfaction when the other woman started to look uncomfortable all of a sudden. "Oh, don't worry, dear," Narcissa amended, mocking her use of endearment. "I'm sure the Betty Ford Clinic knows what they're doing. He'll be clean in no time."

Mrs Nott's ruby red lips parted in a silent gasp, her too-thin eyebrows furrowing. "Wha- Oh, I assure you, that was nothing but a mistake." She laughed nervously for a short moment, then stopped, giving the older woman an almost pleading look. She wrung her hands. "Why? Are people talking?"

"Your mom's really something," Harry commented, marveling at Narcissa's ability to turn a glorified trophy wife into little more than an insecure little girl.

Draco turned, a bit surprised at that statement. It was true, though, he supposed. His thoughts soon went to the subject of his mothers conversation and he opened his mouth to ask the question he'd been wondering since the day before.

"What do you plan on telling Snape?"

Harry blinked, glancing back at him. "The truth, mostly," he answered, thinking it should've been obvious.

"'Mostly'," Draco scoffed. "Need I remind you of Snape's threat of expulsion?"

"Why?" Harry smirked. Again, leaning in way too close for Draco's comfort, tapping his nose with one finger, the other arm wrapping itself around the blonde's shoulder. "Is Draco worried about me?"

"Am I interrupting something, boys?"

Harry spun around, tightening his grip around Draco's shoulders and pulling him even closer. "Not at all, Mrs Malfoy," he answered, giving her his best 'innocent' smile, receiving an amused smirk in return. Rolling his eyes, Draco none too gently shoved him off.

After they departed, Harry caught up with Hermoine and the rest of his roommates, except for Blaise, who he could only assume was with his anonymous girlfriend somewhere. Deciding to take Seamus' Hummer (yes, a Hummer) since it was the only way to fit all of them, the Irishman left to get his keys from the the dorm room. Harry told him to try to be quiet, that Draco and Narcissa had to talk about something and not to interrupt them.

--

"Your father has decided to run in the mayoral campaign with Tom Riddle," Narcissa stated as soon as they sat down.

Draco repressed a shiver at the name.

Tom Riddle was currently the chief of the Merlin Police Department, though how exactly he managed to obtain that position was questionable to say the least. Bribery or blackmail was susceptible to many, but neither of which would come as much of a surprise to anyone. What was surprising, however, was that the man was now running for mayor. What was next, state senate? _President_?

God forbid.

A little over a year ago, Draco had actually had the misfortune of meeting Mr Riddle at some benefit or another that his father was hosting, and on the surface, there was absolutely nothing about him that seemed even the least bit off. From a distance, he looked like any other normal, somewhat handsome, forty-something-year-old man. Sort of how Draco would imagine Potter would look at that age, only not nearly as good-looking.

Yes, Tom Riddle seemed utterly ordinary, but one must never forget not to judge a wolf by its clothing, lest they be digested.

Unlike many of his devoted simpletons, Draco wasn't fooled for even a second. The man had the tongue of a snake, and while Draco didn't consider verbal manipulation a particularly unadmirable trait, every word the man ever spoke seemed to have an underlying meaning that only he knew. Granted, Draco had only spoken to him that once, but even then, he had to force himself not to drop eye-contact multiple times.

An extraordinary amount of people will agree that the eyes are the windows to ones soul, and if that was the case, Tom Riddle's windows were crimson tinted and nearly impossible to see through. Under an almost always expressionless mask lurked a most talented actor, intimidating in the most frightening sense imaginable.

In short, Tom Riddle made his skin crawl.

"Of course, he never bothered to discuss this with his family beforehand," Narcissa continued. "No, I had to find out from the morning paper like the rest of the world that my husband was Tom Riddle's right-hand man. That he'll be in league with one of the most deceptive men I've ever met in my life and spouting incredible lies to the general public about how 'Tom Riddle is a hero that has been keeping his community safe for years' and that, 'with Merlin in his hands, you can sleep soundly in your beds at night knowing that it will continue to stay that way'," she ranted, obviously quoting something and not at all happy about it.

Finally, she turned her attention back to Draco, giving him a dry look. "Basically, along with many others, your father has sold the remaining pieces of his soul to the devil himself for an _obscene_ amount of money," she ended theatrically.

"What does that have to do with me?" Draco questioned as soon as the thought came to him.

Narcissa sighed, irritated. "Must you always be so selfish, darling?"

"Well, I just don't see what the big deal is. You and I both how well he'd do in politics, and he obviously picked a winning team," he said, choosing to ignore the irate look his mother sent him. "Honestly, Mother, when you told me we needed to talk, I expected it would have at least something to do with me."

"This has everything to do with you, dear. After all," she drawled, and Draco immediately tensed, noticing the whisper-but-not tone for what it was. Narcissa had always had a habit of sounding a lot like Jennifer Tilly when she was about to do or say something particularly malicious, reminding Draco of _Bride of Chucky_. "Where do you think you're father will be making all of those absurd speeches?"

Draco's eyes widened comically. "No," he denied. Narcissa nodded in mock-sympathy, and Draco jumped out of his seat, panicked. "H-He can't come _here_-!"

"Oh, don't fret, darling," she amended, taking pity on him. "He'll be way too busy swaying public opinion and spreading lies in general to visit you here at school."

"You couldn't have just _said_ that?!"

"Sorry, darling, but you deserved it. Making light of such a situation is ludicrous. Tom Riddle is about to have the entire city in the palm of his filthy hand and all you care about is yourself." As her son sat back down, Narcissa gave him a inquiring look. "If he's elected, it will be his sole mission to get Proposition Eight passed. Do you want that?"

Draco looked up at that, frowning as he tried to remember what that was. Then it clicked; Proposition Eight was a statewide ban that, if passed, would make it illegal for gay couples to get married. He'd heard about it on the news a few months ago, but since there had been less than half a chance that it would be passed, he'd thought nothing of it at the time.

"Well, what do you what me to say? If Riddle wants to be mayor, and especially if Father's helping him, then there's no doubt he'll win. What's the point of arguing about it if there's nothing we can do? Besides... Proposition Eight doesn't concern me."

"It doesn't _concern _you?" Narcissa said, as incredulous as Draco had ever seen her.

"Is this all you wanted to talk to me about?"

Narcissa sighed, giving up. "No, it wasn't. Your father sent this with me," she said, producing a letter with his name on it from out of seemingly nowhere. Draco reached out for it, raising an eyebrow at the already opened envelope.

"I assume it was already opened when he gave it to you?"

"Naturally," Narcissa replied unabashedly, checking her nails.

Draco went to open it, but then thought better of it and tucked it into his front pocket to read later when he was alone. He avoided his mothers pitying look.

"What if he _does_ get the time to come visit?" Draco inquired hesitantly.

"It isn't very likely, darling. Besides, you'll be back in the private building come tomorrow. You've not a thing to worry about." She raised a brow when Draco looked away. "That is... unless you want to stay, of course."

"Don't be ridiculous. I've been waiting to get out of here for months."

"I think dreading it would be a more accurate term."

"Unless you've forgotten, Mother, I never _wanted_ to be here in the first place. You didn't give me any choice."

"You never did thank me for that."

"_Thank_ you? You're lucky I'm still speaking to you!"

"Draco." He frowned, taken aback at the seriousness of her tone and how understanding her expression was. She reached across the table and grasped his hand with both of hers. "Do you want to stay?" Narcissa asked gently.

He stared at her for a moment, wondering how smug she'd be if he said yes. He shook that thought away quickly, however, knowing how enraged Lucius would be if he _did _come to Hogwarts, no matter how small of a chance there was, and found out where his son had been living. Before, it hadn't been his choice, so technically he wasn't at fault, but now, should he stay of his own will, the responsibility would be resting on his shoulders alone.

Drawing his hand back from his mothers, he wondered, was it worth it?

"No," he lied.

"Fine." Draco almost winced at how utterly disappointed she sounded. "Have you told your friends yet?"

Again, Draco frowned. "What friends? They're my roommates. _Were_ my roommates," he corrected himself bitterly. "But, no, I haven't told them."

"Hm, and what of Harry?"

"So, it's 'Harry' now, is it? What about him?"

"Well, call it a lucky guess, but if there was any reason for you to stay, I'd assume it would be him."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Draco claimed, losing his indifferent exterior and quickly. There was no way he'd been that obvious, he thought.

"Anyone with eyes can see how smitten you are with that boy," she laughed.

Draco guffawed. "Smitten? Who's smitten? I'm not smitten," he claimed frantically.

"I can see why, though. He's polite, handsome, incredibly charming-"

"Potter? Are we even talking about the same person?"

"Darling, this denial phase has gone on for far too long. It must be getting terribly stuffy in that closet of yours," Narcissa sighed.

Draco looked as if he was about to have a panic attack. Was she actually going to make him _say_ it?

"Mother..."

"If you can't tell me, someone who already completely accepts and supports you, then how on earth do you plan on ever telling your father?"

At the mention of his father, Draco exploded.

"Fine!" He glared daggers across the coffee table, his knuckles white from how hard he was gripping the edges of the couch, trying to keep them from shaking. "I'm gay! I have absolutely _no_ attraction toward the opposite sex! Christ, are you happy now?"

_Clink_.

Draco turned toward the door suddenly, hearing something drop onto the floor. Something like a set of keys.

With both pairs of eyes on him, Finnigan froze, hardly even daring to breath. His hand was posed directly above the keys lying on the floor below him, unmoving. His eyes were like a deers caught in the headlights, staring back at them in shock. The room was so quiet, Draco could practically hear what the boy was thinking, something along the lines of, 'maybe if I don't move, they won't see me'.

Keeping his eyes on the boy in question as he sank back into the couch cushions, Draco wondered desperately just how much the boy had heard and exactly how he had managed to make it into the room without making a sound.

"Well... I'll see you tomorrow, darling. I'll take you shopping," Narcissa offered amiably, trying her hardest not to giggle. She was out the door in three seconds flat, filling the halls with girlish, bell-like laughter.

The silence was loud inside dorm room sixty-six, almost stifling in its sheer awkwardness. Finally, Finnigan stood up fully, fidgeting with the keys in his hands. He glanced from the door Narcissa had just disappeared out of, to Draco, to the door, then back to Draco, who glared, daring him to open his idiotic mouth and say something stupid.

"So..."

'Stupid' meaning anything at all.

"Leave!"

Maybe it was Draco's do-it-or-die tone, or maybe the daggers he was glaring into the other boys head finally hit the part of his brain that allows the legs mobility, but, needless to say, Finnigan fled from the room faster than Draco thought possible for someone his size.

--

Meanwhile, Harry wasn't having a much better time. He had just made it into the parking lot when his godfather and Remus spotted him, saying they had to speak with him about something, instantly reminding Harry of the conversation he'd just had with a certain blond no more than a half hour before. He'd been serious then, too. It was a proven fact that _nothing_ could ever end well when _anyone_ says they need to speak with you about _anything_. He knew this from personal experience.

Slowing making his way over to Sirius' bike, trepidation started to sink in.

"Well? What's so important?" Harry asked cautiously. At first, he'd sort of thought they were finally going to tell him about their relationship, but that tiny hope was crushed when he saw their faces. They looked like they were attending a funeral.

Harry shook that thought out of his head before it could scare him.

"Um. Keep in mind that what I'm about to tell you is just a coincidence, okay, kiddo? That's all it is," Sirius claimed from his perch on the back of his bike. Remus stood by Harry, a hand on his shoulder as if to keep him from running off. Their reproachful tactics weren't helping Harry's nerves _at all_.

"Okay..."

"The, uh, the reason we were late was because we had to take Pete to the hospital earlier," Sirius explained slowly. He took a deep breath before continuing. "He's stable now, but, uh, the doctor said it was an overdose," he finished hesitantly, looking closely for Harry's reaction.

Harry stayed quiet for a long moment, thinking about what that could mean. And it all depended on his next question.

"An overdose of what?" When neither Sirius or Remus said anything, he got his answer, and it wasn't the one he wanted. Now, he was entirely aware of the situation and knew why they had been so reluctant to tell him. "...How long has he been using?"

"It's just a coincidence," Remus intervened gently, but still didn't answer his question. When Harry started to back away, Remus made a move to stop him, but pulled back in surprise when he saw the boys face. Sirius had told him about this look, but this was the first that he'd ever actually seen it. The poor boy looked so confused, and hurt, and just so _angry_.

"Do you know that for sure?"

"Please don't jump to conclusions, Harry," Sirius pleaded, his head in his hands.

"Please don't avoid the fucking question, Sirius," Harry mocked him scathingly, his voice raising. He wanted answers.

"Harry!" Remus tried reached out to him now, but the boy shrugged him off.

"How long has he been using?" Harry asked again, much calmer than before. Which may or may not have been a good thing.

Looking back at him and shaking his head, Sirius sighed. "I don't know."

"Then how could you possibly know if it's a coincidence or not?"

"Because I know Peter," Sirius answered simply, as if that was the only explanation needed. And to him, it was.

"Well, you obviously didn't know him well enough."

"Look, Harry," Sirius started, and Harry felt somehow justified knowing that he was angry. "Peter is a lot of things, but an _addict_ isn't one of them. Now, considering what you've been through, I can understand where you're coming from, and I know you're still pissed at him for what happened last week, but trust me on this. I practically grew up with the guy! This was probably just some stupid, spur-of-the-moment type of thing gone wrong. _You_ of all people should get that."

Sirius regretted saying that the very instant it left his mouth. He jumped off his bike, swallowing audibly and fully prepared to say he was sorry. Not that what he said wasn't true. It was, and they all knew that, but he really didn't have to throw it back in Harry's face like that.

Harry was silent for a moment, before spotting Seamus waving at him from the entrance. Turning on his heel, he started to walk away, toward Seamus' Hummer. "I gotta go," he threw over his shoulder. Translation: Save your apology.

"Harry..."

He stopped, looking over his shoulder at Remus, mostly because the man sounded so worried.

"I'm fine," he lied, knowing what he was going to ask.

"Listen, Harry. Why don't you come to the hospital with us tomorrow and-"

"He can't," Sirius interrupted, not taking his eyes off the ground until Harry spoke.

"You know me too well, Sirius," Harry laughed. It sounded resentful even to his own ears.

When Harry was out of sight, Remus gave Sirius a puzzled look. "Why can't he come to the... Oh," he stated, putting two and two together and answering his own question even before he finished asking it. In response, Sirius nodded, confident that he had come to the correct conclusion.

"He's been out every weekend since he got here," Sirius stated suddenly, pondering on it.

"Falling back into old habits, maybe?"

"God, I hope not. At least it's not every night anymore," Sirius said, grateful for the fact.

That was definitely an improvement. When Sirius had first found out that Harry had been sneaking out at night from the Dursley's, he didn't think much of it at the time. Boys will be boys, right? Hell, Sirius probably would've done the same thing had he been in Harry's situation, living with _those_ people, but after a while, it became apparent that Harry wasn't _just _sneaking out. He was sneaking into clubs, drinking, partying, and doing a whole lot of other shit Sirius wished he didn't know about. He was basically having the time of his life and was doing one hell of a good job at keeping the Dursley's (and Sirius) in the dark about it.

It was amazing, really, how long the boy had managed to keep it a secret. But eventually, he _did_ get caught, and he was lucky it was only Sirius that caught him.

It was the night of Harry's sixteenth birthday and Sirius had wanted to do something special with him, knowing that the Dursley's would never even so much as _say _'happy birthday' to the boy, much less celebrate it. Considering himself a rather cool godfather, Sirius had wanted to give Harry his very first club experience. That, however, proved to be quite unnecessary because, soon after arriving, Sirius was quick to discover that Harry already knew the majority of the people there, even the _bartender_! Just _how_ well Harry knew these people, Sirius hadn't the slightest clue, as the boy had taken great care not to return even a quarter of the familiarity aimed in his direction, mindful of his godfathers presence.

As Sirius predicted he might, Harry had tried to play it off as normal, like maybe if he did, then Sirius might not confront him about it and pass it off as nothing. Needless to say, that didn't happen. Almost directly after questing him, Sirius got his explanation, trusting Harry to be honest with him. Harry had assured him that he only went out with friends every once in a while when he needed to get away from the Dursley's, to escape a bit.

He knew Harry didn't do it intentionally, but that statement had positively _consumed _him with guilt at that moment. After all, if he lived a more stable life, he could've taken the boy in, got him away from those terrible relatives of his. Thinking he could sympathize with the kid for wanting to get away from them and have a little fun for once, he chose to see past what he thought was a little indiscretion if Harry promised not to go overboard with it and ordered the boy a drink.

It was pretty safe to say that that had been Sirius' third mistake that night; allowing himself to be guilted into forgiving Harry's disobedience and brushing it off with reward instead of any form of repercussion. His second mistake was trusting his godson, a _teenager _that was being backed into a corner, to be completely honest with him, a parental figure whom the boy would really hate to disappoint. Little did Sirius know at the time, Harry had already gone overboard a long time before that conversation.

Sirius' first mistake was assuming that he hadn't.

"Why don't you talk to him about it?" Remus suggested, bringing him back to reality.

Sirius shook his head in the negative. "He's not the same little kid anymore, Remmy. Shit, he's hardly the same person at all. Plus," he added in a more reasonable, positive note. "He's with his friends. I think I can trust him to stay out of trouble."

Or at least he hoped so.

--

Hours later, Harry stumbled out of Volume, his entourage in tow. He shrugged Ron's hand off his shoulder when the boy tried to steady him, thinking he wasn't nearly inebriated enough to need help walking. Feeling uncomfortably warm, he pulled off his coat, throwing it loosely over his shoulder. He wasn't sure how it got there exactly, but the front of his shirt smelled strongly of vodka. Sweat that wasn't entirely his own was making his clothes cling to his skin, making him feel sticky. He didn't mind, though, since it was about the only undesirable effect the dance floor had.

Oh, the nostalgia...

"Are you okay, Harry?" Hermoine inquired, watching him curiously as he waved to a bouncer, the man who had let them in. Harry turned, giving her what he thought was a convincing smile.

"I'm great, why?"

"You've been acting strange all night," Dean answered. He looked down at his boyfriend, who was hanging off his arm. Seamus, too, had been acting a little off. Preoccupied, maybe.

"I'm fine, guys," Harry told them, swerving to avoid bumping into an unfortunate-looking boy a couple years older than him, who was wearing face-paint and looked even more intoxicated than himself on the sidewalk. The boy gave him a dirty look anyway, however, which Harry returned gladly. His eyebrow shot up in surprise when the boys expression turned to utter disgust. Then he noticed that the guy wasn't looking at him anymore, but behind him at Seamus and Dean. Realizing why, Harry could've groaned.

The kid actually had the nerve to _spit_ on the sidewalk in front of the couple, muttering, "Faggots," as he passed.

Everyone stopped, staring at the bigoted assholes retreating back with wide, incredulous and affronted eyes.

"What the hell is your problem, dude?" Harry shouted, mostly because nobody else was saying anything.

The guy turned back to them, his disgusted look aimed at Harry now. "What, are you a fag, too?" He smirked cockily, giving him a up-and-down look, sizing him up. "Should've figured. Good luck burning in hell," he said in a mock-upbeat tone.

This struck a cord in Seamus, who had heard enough of his family's Catholic hate-speeches to last a lifetime.

"Fuck you!"

The boy laughed. "I don't want HIV."

For a reason that no one in the world but him understood, Harry's self-restraint broke entirely at that and all the anger he'd felt earlier came rushing back to him at once. He saw red. Words couldn't express how much satisfaction he felt when he heard that sickening crack as his fist connected expertly with that bastards nose.

Then his jaw, then his eye, then his stomach...

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**Authors Note:** I asked you a couple chapters back whether Draco should stay in the dorms or move back to the private building, and left the decision entirely up to you guys. This is your last chance, people. Tell me, should he stay or should he go?

Just so you know, Proposition 8 is real. If it's passed, all gay marriage in California will be banned. Needless to say, most of it's supporters are church-based, mostly Catholic and Mormon. Personally, I believe equal rights should be for _everyone_, not just a majority. That being said, if you live in California (which I don't) and are old enough (which I'm not yet), vote NO on Prop 8.

Anyway, I'm sorry this was so incredibly late, but I do have a reasonable excuse. I always tend to get sick around this time of year and this is the first time in a while that I've felt well enough to do _anything_. On a lighter note, now that I'm better, I'll probably (huh, disclaimer) be updating quicker.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter, they were incredibly positive and sweet. And tell me what you guys think of this chapter, okay? Again, ideas are encouraged, so if you have any you'd like to share, then please do so. Constructive criticism, too, is encouraged.

Review!


	12. Out and Proud

**Rating: **It isn't now, but it'll be M eventually.

**Warning: **Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness. Future drug use.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the series. Nor any of the songs mentioned in this chapter.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Twelve**

**Out and Proud**

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Back at the dorm room, Draco was too busy attempting to sort out his internal crisis to register who it was that just wouldn't stop knocking on the door. Politely at first, like whoever it was expected someone to answer immediately, then monotonous when they realized nobody was coming. Only when the insistent knocking finally ceased did he realize who it must have been; McGonnagal, obviously. But by that time, there was no point in answering since she was already gone, probably figuring they turned in early or some other bullshit excuse so she could go to bed and not have to go through the trouble of tracking them down. It was just as well, seeing as Draco was the only one there at the moment, for which he was thankful. Anyone else's presence would just be a distraction from his mental conflict at this point.

No more than two months ago, Draco had practically resigned himself to a life in the closet. He would've been perfectly discontent getting married, having kids, growing old and dying with some stupid female he could never be attracted to. Basically never coming out to anyone. He wouldn't have been happy by any means, but that seemed like a better option to him than being gay. Or at least it did two months ago. Now, coming out was starting to sound like it might actually be a _good_ idea, when before, he considered the very thought to be insane.

It was Potter's fault. A childish thought, sure, but it was true. If it wasn't for Potter, none of this would've happened. In the few months that Draco had known him, the boy had changed everything, albeit indirectly. Strangely, Draco still couldn't bring himself to not like the boy. It sounded so cliche, even in his own head, but admitting he was gay -actually _saying_ it out loud- had felt like an incredible weight off his shoulders, a welcomed relief.

He knew it was inevitable now; he would have to come out eventually. Long gone were his dreams of living out his life in the closet. He knew his mother would rather die than see that happen. That, however, wasn't necessary since he wasn't so opposed to the idea anymore. Maybe coming out really wouldn't be as bad as he'd thought. It wasn't very likely, however.

Draco had pretty much given up trying to be straight a year ago after that disaster with Pansy. It was impossible for him to turn straight and, apparently, girls seem to make a connection between emotions and any form of sex. Who knew letting the girl suck him off that _one time_ would lead her to think that he actually liked her? It was stupid and inconsiderate on Draco's part to think that she wouldn't, but he was desperately trying to 'cure' his homosexuality at the time. Needless to say, it didn't work and only served to assure himself that he was, in fact, a complete homo. He knew it was wrong to use her the way he had, and he was facing the aftermath now because of it, but he was sort of looking forward to seeing her reaction when and if he comes out.

The only thing that was keeping him from doing so was his father, wherein lies the problem. He wasn't sure he could do it. The consequences of coming out to his father were both unknown and terrifying. There was so much the man could do to make him regret his decision if he did. Aside from a select few, everybody else's opinion couldn't matter less to him.

Other than that, which was on the forefront in his mind, he was ashamed to find that there was something else bothering him.

In the several years Draco had spent at Hogwarts Academy, Merlin had slowly become something of a home to him. More so even than Malfoy Manor, which had always seemed cold in comparison. If Riddle did become mayor, there was no telling what he would do to Merlin.

The whole thing was suspicious. Narcissa had said that Riddle was paying Lucius and many others an 'obscene amount of money' to do his bidding, so the question was, where did Riddle manage to get all of this money? Draco didn't know how much the average chief of police earned, but it surely couldn't be enough to pay what his father usually demands, much less whatever the 'many others' were being paid. It reeked of illegitimacy.

Here's where the shame comes in; Draco didn't allow himself to think on it much, but along with many other things, Proposition Eight was weighing heavily on his mind. He could say he didn't care all he liked, but that didn't change the fact that he was just as angry about it as his mother was. At the moment, same-sex marriage was legal in Merlin, but it wouldn't be for long if Riddle had anything to say about it. That was fact.

As a child, Draco remembered looking through his parents wedding album and imagining how he wanted his own. He had made a game out of it and everything was already planned out in his head before the age of ten. Everything but the person he would marry, of course, because girls were icky. It sounded incredibly self-centered, even now, but if the bride was always the center of attention, then he didn't want one at _his_ wedding.

The point was, the fact that Riddle could make it so people like him couldn't get married unless they moved away from their homes was ridiculously unjust. Draco had heard him speak about the subject before, calling gay marriage a mockery of all holy unions, using religion as an excuse for his blatant homophobia while simultaneously gaining supporters of the religious variety. The irony in all of this was that with every supporter he gained, the chances of the gay minority -which by definition already _means _smaller in number- having more votes than the vast majority of Riddle's religious followers were practically nonexistent, and all of this was thanks to Riddle's incredible lie that he had any religious beliefs whatsoever.

And that was just the tip of the iceberg. There were so many other issues to take into account when concerning the gay community; domestic partnership, adoption, joint bank accounts... The list was so long Draco could hardly fit it in his head.

_'Proposition Eight doesn't concern me'_

And it didn't. Proposition Eight didn't concern him, or at least not yet. Being a minor, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it now, and no matter how much the fact made him want to grind his teeth, it was still a fact.

All of these thoughts were swimming endlessly around in his mind, but none of what he'd been thinking even came close to being nearly as important as his fathers letter. That in mind, he slipped it out of his breast pocket, examining his name on the front of the envelope before opening it with a hesitancy even he wasn't familiar with. After taking a much needed deep breath, he started to scan the letter as quickly as possible, his eyes narrowing further with every sentence in poorly concealed infuriation.

He only got about halfway through the letter before he heard the door knob turn and the loud, scolding voice of Granger.

"What were you thinking, Harry?"

"I wasn't," came the wearisome response.

"Well, that much is obvious. You do know you could have seriously injured that boy, don't you? You could've been arrested!"

Curiosity piqued, Draco tossed the letter onto his desk and stood, his brow creasing. His roommates came in one after the other, all wearing the same weary, vexatious expression except for Finnigan, who was wearing an odd grin. Weasley stayed in the hall with his girlfriend, presumably to walk her up to her room.

"Shh!"

"Keep it down, Hermione, please. It's way after curfew and I do not want to get caught out-"

Thomas' little piece of advice, however wise, was cut off by Potter, who apparently felt the need to defend himself with a childish, "For what? He started it! That mother-"

"Could we use our inside voices at least? Damn."

"Oh, let's see. Assault, battery, disturbing the peace-"

Draco could see her counting them off on her fingers through the door frame.

"Pull off the dogs, Ron. She's _your_ girlfriend," Seamus put in, safe behind Harry and as helpful as ever.

Ron shot him a glare and let go of the arm he'd been holding, allowing Hermione to lunge at the boy.

"Dogs?! I'll show you-"

"Goodnight, Hermoine," Harry sighed, trying not to come off as rude as he shut the door in her face. Draco couldn't quite keep himself from gaping when he turned around, revealing a painful-looking split lip and a generous amount of red staining the front of his shirt as he leaned back on the door frame.

"Tell me that isn't blood." Draco thanked the heavens he didn't sound as alarmed as he felt.

Harry sighed, knowing everyone, his peers and teachers alike, would probably want an explanation out of him for his new injuries, and heaven knows what Sirius and Remus would have to say about it. He groaned at the thought, rubbing both of his temples to try to ward off the premature hangover he knew was coming.

"Not _his_ blood, no. Well, not most of it, anyway," Dean answered, pulling off his coat. Draco noticed that Potter was missing his.

"You should've seen it, Malfoy! We were all just leaving the club and this guy wanted to start some shit, right? And then Harry went all superman on us-!"

"Don't over-exaggerate, Seamus," Harry interjected, peeling off his shirt. He looked down at it and let out a silent curse. Blood stains were a bitch to get out. After a second, he threw it into the trash bin. He never liked it much anyway.

"I'm not!" Seamus argued as Dean disappeared into the bathroom. Harry followed a second later, eager to get the collected grime off of his skin.

"What happened?"

Seamus flopped down on the sofa, a brow raised in surprise that Draco cared enough to ask. "This asshole walked up and _spit _at us, saying what pretty much every homophobe says. You know, fag, burn in hell, blah blah blah-"

"I get it."

"Well, the guy was saying something about HIV when Harry punched him in the face. It was awesome! I had no idea he could fight like that. The other kid'll be lucky if his mother can recognize him after tonight."

Draco had to remind himself that every word that came out of this boy's mouth was usually overdramatized, and because of this, it was unlikely Potter would have to face any criminal charges. Although considering the amount of blood of his shirt and fact that Potter didn't look too bad off, he very well might.

"And nobody held him back?"

"We tried! It was like he was in some kind of trance or something," Seamus defended. Draco raised a brow when he suddenly got this far away look, so different from his earlier enthusiasm. "It was like... I didn't think he was gonna stop until the guy stopped moving. He was bleeding pretty badly by the time we pulled Harry off of him. It was kind of scary actually..."

Draco knew Potter was a hothead, but this was something else entirely. He was certainly the type to act first and think later, but not when it came to making someone bleed. Though not by much, Potter had more self control than that. And from what he could tell, Potter threw the first punch, so the other boy had to have said something bad enough to set him off entirely. Still, that was no excuse to beat some guy bloody in the street like some roughneck and Draco had a few choice words for Potter when he got out of the bathroom.

"Look, Malfoy... Draco," Seamus began suddenly, unsure of whether or not it was okay to use Draco's first name. "About earlier. I didn't-"

"What happened earlier was none of your business, and it still isn't," Draco informed, giving him a pointed look and willing him to drop the subject. He knew where this was going and he wanted to stop this conversation before it started, at least until he could figure out how to deal with it. He sat back down at his desk and made a show of keeping his hands busy, his back facing the other boy, and if it was anyone other than Seamus Finnigan, they probably would've seen this as the end of discussion.

"Well... I don't know if you've noticed, but _I'm_ gay, too," Seamus informed, as if everybody didn't already know.

Draco looked back at him incredulously, knowing the boy could _not _be serious. He took in the ridiculously heavy black eyeliner and artful glow-in-the-dark green stars he probably had his boyfriend paint around his eyes, the tight club clothes and the body glitter. "I've noticed."

"Right. Then you can see how I can relate, can't you? I've been out since I turned fifteen, and take my advise-"

"Please keep me out of your homo mentoring fantasies."

Seamus groaned, getting frustrated with Draco's evasiveness. "I just wanted you to know that if you need to talk to anyone-"

Draco interrupted again with a snort, sending him a sceptical glance over his shoulder. "That I can come to you?"

"Do you know anyone better?" Seamus retorted, hopping up onto his knees and turning so that he could lean over the back of the couch to better face the other boy. "My family is _Catholic_. Do you know hard it was for me to come out to them? Hell, if it wasn't for Dean I'd probably still be letting them force me into the condemnation side of a confessional booth."

For some reason, that came as something of a surprise to Draco. He didn't look back at the boy, but in that moment he realized how little he knew about his roommates. His own family had never been very religious, and he could only be thankful that that problem didn't have to be added to the equation, but he could imagine how much worse coming out would be if it was. He wanted to ask if it was worth it, but the only thing he could allow himself to say was, "family reunions must be hell for you," and hope that it sounded as disinterested as he'd meant it to.

Seamus laughed anyway. "Well, if I ever go to one, I'm dragging Dean down with me. They've been praying for my soul on a daily basis since I discovered I had a sex drive. I deserve a little revenge. Plus, nothing pisses off the hetero's like rubbing your boyfriend in their faces."

As suicidal as that would be in Draco's case, he had to admit that that idea had a certain appeal to it, especially after reading what he had of his father's letter. He couldn't really remember a time when he actually _wanted_ to piss off his father, but he certainly felt that way now.

"So..." Seamus ventured awkwardly when Draco didn't say anything more, uncomfortable with the silence and searching for something to say. "I, uh, saw your name on the petition. Are you gonna join?"

"No," Draco scoffed. To be honest, he hadn't really thought about it. Signing the petition was one thing, but joining was a totally different story. Even if he wanted to, which he didn't, his schedule wouldn't allow it. He already had too many extracurricular activities in the first place, and even though he might not like any of them, he still had a responsibility to show up.

Seamus balked. "Why not?"

"Besides the fact that joining your little club would be a sure-fire way of outing myself?" Draco asked sardonically.

"No, it wouldn't! It's for gay _and_ straight students," Seamus objected, more to convince Draco than to defend his club-in-progress.

"Right, and what 'straight student' in their right mind would join a gay club?"

Seamus made a show out of considering it. "Oh, um, let's see. Dean, Ron, Hermione, Blaise, Neville, Harry- although he's questionable," he added as an afterthought. He would brag any day that his gay-dar was twenty-twenty (and he did just that), so when it came to Harry, Seamus knew there was no way that fine hunk of man-meat was completely straight. It just wasn't possible, or at least not in his mind.

"Potter's straight," was Draco's immediate response, earning a raised eyebrow from the other boy. Some resentment must have crept into his tone, he thought, because the crazy-happy, cupid look Finnigan was giving him now showed his strangely not-so-surprised assumption before it slowly turned into a weird combination between sympathetic and sly. Draco's glare conveyed his warning, a warning Finnigan ignored entirely.

"I don't know, Malfoy," Seamus drawled. "I've never seen a straight boy that can dance like that, especially to techno." Draco laughed, unable to picture Potter doing anything but stumble on the dance floor.

"Potter can dance?" A hand shot around him from behind, grabbing onto his hand and spinning him around, causing him to stand and fumble. This brought him chest to naked chest with a shirtless Harry Potter, who was sporting a towel over his shoulders, hair still dripping wet from his shower and grinning tiredly as contactless green eyes danced along with the rest of him to a beat only he could hear.

"Oh, yeah. I'm a regular club boy," the raven purred directly into his ear, as if Draco couldn't hear him over the nonexistant music. Seamus laughed as Potter liesurely spun them around, both hands slidding down one at a time to Draco's hips to make them sway along with his to the imaginarily fast beat.

Draco gave him a dirty look, trying to wriggle out of his grasp, the close contact to Potter having the usual effect on him. Did the boy know nothing of personal space?

Harry chuckled at his fruitless attempt. "Or to fast songs, at least. Can't slow dance for shit, though."

The door chose that moment to open, revealing an unusually disheveled and satisfied-looking Blaise, not but a blur to Harry.

"What happened to you?" Blaise questioned, gesturing to Harry's lip. A hand caught the door as he went to shut it behind him, Ron coming in a second later.

Harry didn't relinquish his hold on Draco, but the lazy, practiced movements ceased. He groaned at Blaise's inquiry, dropping his head down onto Draco's shoulder. The blond took this opportunity to disengage himself from the raven in the form of a harsh shove that Draco regretted when it subsequently pushed the raven onto his bed.

"I'll take care of it," Seamus offered eagerly.

"Try to keep it non-fiction," Harry requested, undogmatical as he fell back onto the bed he was seated upon, releasing a contented sigh in comfort as his aching muscles relaxed into the mattress. His comfort was very short-lived, however, because he shot upright a second later when something latched tightly onto his right hand, squeezing mercilessly at his still painfully sore knuckles. "OW! What was that for?!"

"Get your ass out of my bed, Potter. You're getting my sheets wet."

"What's your problem?" Harry questioned, probably less cross than he should've considering he was rubbing his injured knuckles from Draco's assault when he said it. He made no move whatsoever to get out of the blonde's bed.

"You are!" Draco accused, griting his teeth in annoyance when Potter pointed to himself in innocent surprise as if to say 'me?'. "Yes, you! You go out for just a few hours and you come home covered in some guys blood? What the hell is the matter with you?" Draco immediately wanted to take back these words, knowing that he probably sounded like some disgruntled housewife. Potter didn't answer, though. He didn't even appear to be listening, too concentrated on shifting his weight on Draco's bed and pressing down on it with his uninjured hand, as if he was testing it, trying to figure something out. Draco's face contorted in confusion. "...What?"

"Hn," was the considering, monosyllabic response. "Your bed's softer than mine..."

Draco let out a frustrated growl, massaging the bridge of his nose to ward off the oncoming headache as he dropped back down onto the chair by his desk. "You're hopeless!"

Though Potter might not think so, this conversation was far from over, Draco would make sure of that. He knew the raven was just avoiding the subject, and that meant that there was something he wasn't comfortable talking about, something Draco was determined to find out.

Harry chuckled softly, giving him an inquisitive look. "Did you seriously just refer to Hogwarts as 'home'?"

Draco just looked at him blankly for a moment, thinking back. Did he? Shit, he did.

Harry leaned back onto his elbows and laughed again, this time at Draco's expression. "Don't sweat it. I'm starting to think that way about this place, too. It's better than any home I've had before, at least."

Draco had to wonder about that. Every time Potter spoke about living with his relatives, or just the concept of family in general, he would suddenly get this terribly depressing, broody look on his face. Having enough of his own problems to worry about, Draco thought it best to drop the subject, and he was about to do so, but Potter beat him to the punch.

"So, what was this intriguing debate you and Seamus were having about me?" Harry asked amusingly, only just now realizing what the two were talking about before he came back into the room.

"Just caught that, did you?" Draco wondered if the change of subject was intentional or not. "It wasn't a debate. Finnigan seemed to think you can't be straight, I assured him that you are. No need to thank me."

"You told him I was straight?" Potter's tone suggested that that wasn't true, spurring an incredulous look from Draco.

"Potter, you just told me -no more than a few hours ago- that you were straight, remember? Or did tonight's alcohol consumption completely wipe out the sad remainder of brain cells you have left?"

"I said I wasn't _gay_," Harry corrected. "I said nothing about being straight."

Draco furrowed his brow. "That doesn't make any sense, Potter."

Harry sighed, thinking of how he could explain without sounding too incredibly redundant. "The term straight suggests that I'm only attracted to girls, and I'm not."

Draco half expected Finnigan to pop up right then and say 'I told you so'. Everyone had probably figured he and Potter were fighting about something, which would explain why they weren't interrupting. Fights between he and Potter occurred often and their roommates had long ago realized that it was just better to stay out of them.

"...So, you're bi." For some unfathomable reason, Draco wanted to be absolutely sure.

"Sure, I guess."

"You _guess_?"

Harry shrugged. "I never thought about it much. Gender doesn't really mattered to me. I like who I like, so if that makes me bi, then I guess I am." And with that, he once again fell back onto the bed, his arms propping up his head and letting his eyes drift shut, absentmindedly tongueing the wound on his lip.

Draco didn't bother telling him to get up again, knowing it would probably be in vain anyway. Besides, the boy looked dead tired, and not completely sober, either.

"Well, why didn't you just say you were bi to begin with?"

Harry shrugged again, the movement awkward since he was laying down. "You didn't ask."

Draco rolled his eyes at that, but he had to admit he was extremely envious of Potter at the moment. His life would be so much easier if he was attracted to both sexes, if he had even an inkling of attraction toward the opposite sex. And it wasn't just that. It was also Potter's remarkable ability to remain completely unfazed by it all. The boy could live out his life being what most people consider normal, yet he didn't. Why? Because he didn't see anything wrong with it, it just wasn't important to him. Draco wished he could be like that, to not care what anyone thought and be who he was despite what anyone had to say about it. But _his_ life didn't work like that.

It was very peculiar, though, that four out of the six occupants of dorm room number sixty-six all had an inclination toward members of the same sex. It seemed like way too much of a coincidence.

He turned his attention back to the letter laying innocently enough on his desk, waiting to be read. There was way too much on his mind right now to keep distracting himself with Harry Potter.

Looking back at the boy to make sure he wasn't watching, his eyes lingered just a bit too long on the raven's bare chest before he glanced up to half-lidded, but open green eyes. Before Draco's mortification at being caught staring could fully set in, he noticed that Potter's eyes weren't focused on him. They weren't focused on anything, really, and Draco couldn't help but stare.

For the duration of the time he'd known Potter, he'd always thought the boy wore colored contacts to make them that incredibly green, and only now came the realization that he didn't. Why hadn't he noticed before now? Draco had no idea why he found that simple misunderstanding so fascinating, just like he had earlier about Finnigan's family being Catholic. Maybe it was just the fact that, even though he had been living with these people for months, he still didn't know even the basics about them.

Or maybe he was just procrastinating, delaying the inevitable scorn via his fathers letter. He wanted to read it when he was alone, but with five other roommates, privacy was a little hard to come by.

Said roommates were all lounging around the coffee table, Thomas teasing Blaise about his post-sex glow and Weasley complaining to Finnigan about how it was the Irishman's fault that he had to sit through Granger's speech about sexism and how she couldn't believe a gay male in today's society could be so chauvinistic.

He picked up right where he left off, reading slowly this time, taking it in word for word and letting the outrage set his veins on fire.

'_Though I am highly disappointed in the fact that you couldn't go two months _

_without having your face in the papers, I haven't the time to tell you how _

_ashamed I am of you in person.'_

Even Draco had to admit, that stung, but instead of feeling shame, he felt angry. Did Lucius really expect him to just keep his face hidden all year? Sometimes Draco thinks that that was the only reason his father agreed to send him to Hogwarts in the first place; to keep his embarressment of a son hidden from the public eye and so he would only have to deal with him in the summer. It seemed like a plausible theory.

_'No doubt you know how I feel about everything mentioned in the Daily Profits _

_article, so I won't go into detail about how much I disapprove of your actions. _

_And though I have to wonder what you were doing at a bar with such an _

_unsavory character, the only thing I have to say is that this behavior will not _

_continue, Draco. I will not allow it._

_However, since this is the first time you've ever disobeyed me (at least that _

_I know of) I find it unnecessary to go to extreme measures to prevent this _

_from happening again.'_

Draco started slightly when Potter came up behind him, his arms crossed over the back of Draco's chair casually, leaning in and squinting at the paper curiously. Draco knew he was reading over his shoulder when he felt the raven stiffen slightly, but he just couldn't bring himself to care much. If Potter wanted to see first hand how much of a bastard his father really was, Draco would let him.

_'Assuming your mother has already told you about my decision to assist in _

_the Tom Riddle campaign, I'm sure you understand how important it is that _

_you do not distract me from this task with whatever actions caused by your _

_recently diminishing common sense. I do not have the time, nor the _

_patience, to fix your careless mistakes._

_As for the individual you were photographed with- Harry Potter, is it?'_

"Does everybody in your family already know my name?" Potter murmured over his shoulder. Draco ignored him and continued reading.

_'The one responsible for influencing you're behavior, no doubt. I never want _

_to see that boy with you again, Draco, photographed or otherwise. I will not _

_have my son associating with anyone affiliated with Sirius Black. The man's _

_entire lifestyle is revoltingly abnormal and I will not have you further exposed _

_to that sort of atrocious behavior. Not to worry, I have no doubt that those _

_sickening rumors are false, but being seen with such a person gives the _

_impression that they are, which I cannot allow.'_

And there it was; his father's view on homosexuality. A senseless opinion the man had always tried to force upon his son and one of the many Draco could never share. Lucius had unknowingly called Draco _sickening_. And the worst part of it was that he didn't even _know_ it!

If Draco didn't know any better, he'd think his father was in denial, not believing the rumors only because he didn't want them to be true. He had no doubt seen that discriminating photo, and Draco was sure any normal father would question their son's sexuality had they seen the same, so why was Lucius so sure that the rumors weren't true when it had practically been put on display for the world to see? Draco had to guess he was giving Draco the benefit of the doubt, which, if that was the case, wouldn't be that much of a stretch from denial at all.

Draco felt Potter squeeze his shoulder in a consoling manner, reminding him that the raven was still there.

Lucius had completely rejected Potter for no other reason than the fact that he didn't like the boys godfather. Draco didn't know exactly how he found out who Potter was, but the fact that he had access to that kind of information was a little scary even to Draco, who already knew of his fathers various connections. Threatening as it was, Draco had zero intentions of submitting to his fathers wishes. Not anymore.

_'The company you choose to keep not only reflects yourself, but your _

_upbringing as well. In short, your behavior leads people to question my _

_parenting and the sanctity of the Malfoy family in it's entirety._

_Consider this your first and final warning, Draco. If you disobey me again, I _

_won't be so forgiving. Remember, it isn't so late in your senior year and I'm _

_sure any school would be honoured to take in a Malfoy. As a matter of fact, _

_I think some Durmstrang discipline would do you well. Or, if those disgusting _

_rumors are indeed factual, would Beauxbatons suit you better?'_

"No offense, Draco, but, uh, your dad's a dick... Was that supposed to be a joke or something?" Harry asked, referring to the last part about Beauxbatons, which was an all girls boarding school. He took his previous seat back on Draco's bed, hoping Draco would say it was a joke, because if it wasn't... or even if it was... Damn. He hadn't even met the man yet and he already couldn't stand him.

Draco didn't answer, too furious to form words at the moment. It was like everything his father said was especially made to cut him as deep as possible. He thought back to what Finnigan had said about revenge. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to get back at Lucius, even if it meant getting disowned or worse. He balled up the letter and tossed it into the trash bin. This sparked another new feeling; defiance.

"You okay, Drake?"

"Don't call me that," Draco responded absently.

Harry took that as a yes. "What are you gonna do?"

"Hm? What do you mean?"

"Your dad said he didn't want you near me," Harry explained, his words holding no bitterness.

"Oh." Draco blinked. "I don't know yet."

That wasn't completely true. Normally, in situations like this, where he didn't know what to do, he just did whatever he wanted. And that was exactly what he planned to do now. He had no idea what he wanted, but he knew what he _didn't_ want. He definitely didn't want to obey any more of his fathers wishes and... he didn't want to be in the closet anymore.

His entire life, almost every one of his actions were dictated by what his father wanted. The places he went, the classes he took, the hobbies he chose, the clubs he joined, the friends he made. Almost everything. And until now, Draco had willingly played his foolish puppet, blindly following the path his father had laid out for him and accepting it as just the way things were. He was like some dysfunctional robot Lucius tried to program to act and speak and even _think_ just like him.

Well, that ended now.

Even if he tried, he could never be his father, and surprisingly, he didn't want to be. Not anymore. Discord and misery were the only results of trying to be his fathers perfect son and if it wasn't for his mothers intervention, Draco knew he'd still be trying.

_'You could spend your whole life, miserable, trying to be someone that you're not, trying to make him happy, and knowing that nothing may ever be enough, or you could spend your life being who you are and making yourself happy.'_

As per usual, she was right where his father was completely wrong. Though Lucius was right about one thing; Potter did have an influence on him. All this defiance had to come from somewhere and Potter was a likely source, since he certainly had enough to spare. It must have rubbed off on him, Draco suspected, because he had never felt quite this obstinate when concerning his father.

Draco shuttered, imagining how he would look in a Durmstrang uniform. It was a scary, but empty threat, one that Draco wasn't concerned about. Despite what his father had said, Lucius wouldn't transfer him. To do so this far into his last year of high school would be inexpedient and Lucius knew that. Unless he got himself into some serious trouble or Lucius got extremely desperate to get him away from Potter, Draco knew he wouldn't be transferred.

Everything was coming together now. A steady, solid plan was forming in his head, providing a plausible solution to his biggest problem. The answer was right in front of him the whole time, he just couldn't see it. It was so simple! He would just let his father find out on his own, saving him from actually having to _say_ it. A few subtle hints would do the trick, and if Lucius still didn't want to believe it after that, Draco would make it impossible to ignore.

A smirk threatened to pull on his lips as most of the details worked themselves out. It may be simple, but it was incredibly risky. He would have to use all of his superior cunning, but if he played his cards right, everything should go exactly the way he wanted them to. That is, unless one of the players did something unexpected and threw the game plan off track, then Draco would just have to improvise.

Until now, Draco had never really understood the phrase 'out and proud'. He certainly did now, however. Coming out would definitely be something to be proud of. Especially when doing so has proved to be so frustratingly difficult thus far.

Potter caught Draco's attention as he stood up to stretch, yawning as he did so, which in turn made Draco yawn. Only now did he realize how tired he was. He stood up sluggishly and switched off his desk lamp as the raven went over to his hamper and tossed his damp towel inside.

"Aren't you the least bit offended, Potter?" Draco asked between another yawn when the thought came to him. "My father practically called you a bad influence without even knowing who you are."

Harry chuckled, the sound muffled as he slipped a wife-beater over his head. "Do you really think that's the first time I've been called that? It's probably true, anyway."

He was sure to keep his voice low in consideration, seeing as both Weasley and Blaise were already asleep and Finnigan was one blink away from being unconscious himself, curled into his boyfriend's side on the sofa. Thomas, for his part, was looking down at him in rapt attention, drawing away in his sketchbook the way he does only when he knows Finnigan is too distracted or sleepy to notice.

"'Probably'?" Draco scoffed, slipping between his sheets and getting comfortable. He normally would've closed his curtains, but he wanted to see how Potter reacted to what he had to say next. "Potter, you've proved it to be a fact tonight when you beat up some poor guy in the street. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were _trying_ to be everything that article made you out to be."

It was a setup to get him to explain, Harry knew this, but that didn't stop him from trying to argue.

"You weren't there, Draco. You didn't hear what he said, and he wasn't 'some poor guy'. He was an asshole that deserved everything he got."

"Oh, yes. 'Speeding up karma', was it? There you go again, Potter, playing the superhero, valiantly saving Gayopolis from the evil homophobes." Draco lowered his voice for dramatic effect, making Potter laugh as he made his way back to Draco's bed, dropping bonelessly down beside him. Draco would've snapped at him, but he wanted to know the real reason the boy did what he did tonight.

"Does that make your dad the supervillian?" Harry asked, chuckling when it earned him a kick from Draco, which, thankfully, didn't have too much of an effect since Draco was underneath the covers and he wasn't. "Well, somebody has to, don't they?"

"Don't give me that shit, Potter. It doesn't add up. A few homophobic comments doesn't warrant a beating, even when concerning someone as prone to violence as you."

"I'm not prone to violence," Harry objected feebly.

"Oh? Then how would you explain the bruises I had on my neck not too long ago?" It was a dirty trick and Draco knew it, using Potter's guilt against him like he was. Draco wasn't trying to prove a point by saying this, either. No, Potter did have an anger problem and they both knew it, but it wasn't nearly _that_ bad.

At the mention of what he had done, Harry turned to his side as if trying to see if the bruises were still there, even though he knew they couldn't be and even if they were, he wouldn't have been able to see it because it was dark and he didn't have his contacts in. How could he not feel an ounce of guilt over beating a stranger almost to the point of being unconscious, but actually _feel _the guilt eating away at him now over a making few bruises on Draco's neck? He sighed, taking one of Draco's hands in his injured one and moving closer, lying on his back and forcing Draco to scoot over a bit to share his pillow, never mind the fact that there was another perfectly good one on the other side he could use.

Draco was far from comfortable with this, the closeness making his tense. He didn't object, however, knowing Potter was finally going to spill. He tried to distract himself by watching what the raven was doing with their hands. The contrast was fascinating; his long, pale hand in Potter's larger, tanned one, their fingers interlacing.

"Sirius caught me in the parking lot before I left, saying we needed to talk."

"That's never good," Draco quoted him, mostly just to keep him going, earning an ironic smile in return.

"He, um, he told me that Peter was in the hospital for a drug overdose."

"Pettigrew?" Draco asked, wondering if it was the same Peter he had the misfortune of meeting a week ago. Potter nodded, confirming his assuption, and Draco couldn't really say he was surprised. The man looked every bit the drug abuser. "Does this have anything to do with what happened last week?" Potter tensed a bit, and Draco knew he guessed correctly.

Slowly, Harry nodded again, marvelling at how quickly Draco put the two together. He'd been hoping the blond had forgotten about that with all the commotion of the article, his confrontation with Nott, his mother coming to visit, and the talent show, but apparently not.

"Uh, yeah, it does." Or at least he thought it did. He sighed. "But you're right. A few homophobic comments doesn't warrant a beating, even when coming from a jerk like that," he conceded, looking about on the brink of consciousness.

"Go to sleep, Potter," Draco told him, half asleep himself and knowing Potter probably wouldn't say anything more. "In your own bed," he added when the raven made no move to leave, disentangling their hands.

"Aw, but your bed's just so much more comfortable," Harry whined, but sat up anyway.

"That's because I, unlike the rest of this school, had the sense to bring my own duvet from home. Now, go."

Harry chuckled. "What, now that you know I like guys, you're afraid I'll debauch you in your sleep?"

_That_ earned Potter a well placed shove that sent him plummeting to the floor with a satisfying thump.

"Ow..."

"Goodnight, Potter," Draco said sweetly, dozing off a only few minutes later.

When he woke the next morning, it was to the voices of his roommates, something Draco wasn't entirely used to because he was usually the first person awake. Once he groggily opened his eyes, he was thankful to notice that someone must've closed his curtains during his sleep, blocking out the bothersome sunlight pouring through their windows. Remembering that it was Saturday, he buried himself under the covers, muffling his roommates voices.

"I think Harry might have a thing for older women," Draco heard Finnigan's voice announce. "At breakfast, I heard Lavender say that she saw Harry and Mrs Malfoy walking towards the Headmaster's office arm in arm."

Draco moaned, knowing he had missed breakfast. He shot up a moment later, comprehending the only reason his mother would have to go see Dumbledore. Tossing the covers off of him, Draco felt the urge to smack his forehead at his own stupidity. His plan wouldn't work if he left the dorms. How could he forget something so important?

"Wonder what Malfoy would have to say about that," he heard Weasley muse before he threw open his curtains.

"I'd say you were all a bunch of idiots," Draco threw over his shoulder as he ripped open his bureau and mindlessly grabbed one of his uniforms, dashing into the bathroom a moment later. Grumbling as he changed clothes, he tossed his tie and vest to the side as he sneered into one of the mirrors, and for the first time ever, Draco had to forego his shower.

He made a sprint to the entrance building, ignoring the quizzical looks he received just as he had with his roommates when he raced out of the room. He was panting by the time he reached the stairs leading to the Headmasters office, but didn't pause to catch his breath. He went to continue up the stairs, coming close to running over Professor McGonnagal in the process.

"Oh! Mr Malfoy, what on earth are you doing, racing up here as if you're on fire?" Her brows furrowed as she surveyed his clothing and overall disheveled state. "Take a seat, Mr Malfoy. Is everything alright?" McGonnagal asked, leading him over to one of the many benches in the lobby. The youngest Malfoy wasn't one of her favorite students, but he was her student, and it was her responsibility to look after all of them. Besides, the boy looked a mess.

"I need to see the headmaster," Draco said, still standing and ignoring the question.

"Well, he's a bit preoccupied at the moment-"

"Professor, this is urgent. I must speak with my mother," he insisted stubburnly, watching as she riffled through the organized chaos on her desk.

"I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy, but she left hours ago in a hurry. Something about having an emergency in Chelsea that she had to see to," she explained distractedly. Draco blinked, falling back onto the bench behind him.

"She didn't see the Headmaster?" That didn't make any sense.

"No, she didn't, but I am glad I caught you. She left this for you," she said, picking up a scrap of paper and handing it to him.

Confused, Draco took it, looking down at it with a furrowed brow.

_'You're welcome, Darling.'_

Draco let out a relieved little laugh. He should've known! Of course his mother would do what she thought was best, even if it went directly against his wishes. Why did she even bother to ask what he wanted in the first place? To see his reaction? To see if he was lying? Probably.

After a second, a confused, wondering look overtook his expression, one Professor McGonnagal didn't fail to take notice of.

"Everything alright, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco sighed. "I'm fine," he responded absently. But... if his mother didn't see the headmaster, Potter must've been the one headed that way, according to what Finnigan said. Why would Potter have to see Dumbledore?

"Professor?"

"Yes, Mr Malfoy?"

"Where's Professor Snape?"

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**Authors Note:** Terribly sorry this came out so late, but these last few weeks have been hectic to say the least. First, happy birthday to me, my birthday passed not to long ago and I had to celebrate, then I was invited to art show, then forced out of town with my family to attend a bonfire, then my sister went into labor and asked me to stay with her at the hospital, and now I'm helping her out with the new baby. So, along with everything else my life requires of me, needless to say, I've hardly had the time to eat, much less write.

In celebration of this election year, I left the decision of whether Draco should go back to the private rooms or stay were he is completely up to you guys and, though a lot were undecided, the majority said he should stay, so there you go. Don't you just love democracy?

I know a lot of you were iffy because while Draco and Harry can be together more often if he stays, they could have 'alone time' together if he goes, but don't worry, the fact that he's staying won't interfere with their progress or any future lemony yumminess.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter, they were extremely sweet. Keep it up people, and leave me a review!


	13. Digging Up Graves

**Rating: **It isn't now, but it'll be M eventually.

**Warnings: **Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness. Future drug use.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the series. Nor any of the songs mentioned in this chapter.

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**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Digging Up Graves**

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Do you know what the policy is on drugs at this institution, Harry?"

Harry had no idea. He had been sitting in this chair long enough to render his ass completely numb and most of these questions were starting to run together now. Looming just over his shoulder like an anxious vulture waiting for him to expire, Snape looked like he was receiving great pleasure from watching him squirm. Harry felt compelled to tell him the reason he was squirming was because his foot had fallen asleep about an hour after he got there and he was trying to avoid another meeting with the floor for the second time in a span of no more than ten hours when he chose to stand up. Or whenever the hell he was permitted to do so.

He was thankful that Dumbledore was seemingly taking it easy on him with his kind tone and familar offering of sweets, but in combination with Snape's sadistic and rude responces to anything Harry had to say, this whole thing felt like a really crappy PG version of good cop-bad cop. Harry was lucky, though, that neither of them had yet inquired about his split lip. He couldn't exactly say it was very surprising because, in light of the current situation, it just wasn't that important to mention.

When he first arrived after seeing Narcissa off, Dumbledore was quick to call Snape into his office and after Harry came back after giving them a moment to speak alone, he took a seat and wrote out his take on the situation and guilty confession on the paper the Headmaster had given him. It was as vague as he could manage it, not wanting to give away unnecessary information that could get him into even more trouble than he was already in. After that, he settled in to answer question after meaningless question, most of which could've been answered correctly or answered at all by referring to the Rules and Regulations pamphlet he had never bothered to read.

He actually felt Snape tense when he answered with a feeble, "Not really, sir."

"No. Tolerance. Potter," Snape grounded out, suppressing the urge to smack the boy upside his head. "You learn that in kindergarten. It means when a student is caught with drugs on campus, they get expelled."

The over-simplification was a blatant jab on his intelligence and Harry asked himself for the umpteenth time why the man couldn't just wait outside until this (whatever this was) was over with. He didn't know the answer to that, but he did manage to find out the answer to another question he'd been wondering since the day he met Snape; if the man hated children, why did he work with them? The answer was simple; Snape was a sadistic prick who lived to torture innocent children.

"I didn't-"

"No, you didn't, did you?" Snape interrupted. Harry wondered if the man was psychic. "You only brought drugs into the Academy, broke into a fellow students private room and got said student expelled all over some childish little squabble."

Harry muttered something unintelligible about how nobody uses the word squabble anymore, but other than that he chose not to respond. He had been wondering, though, how Snape had found out about that. He knew the man couldn't know it involved Draco in any way, otherwise Harry was sure Snape would've confronted his godson about it by now. And even if it could grant him some from of testimony, he was determined to keep Draco's name completely out of this.

Dumbledore sighed, glancing down at his watch in what was probably meant to be in a imperceptible manner before raising his glasses a bit to pinch the bridge of his nose. It looked like he was out of meaningless questions and was scrounging his brain for another.

Harry was sure now, that they were buying time for something, but he had no idea what it was they were waiting for. He could tell that something was off. Possession of marijuana, or any other illegal drug, should've by all means had him escorted off campus and heading to the nearest police station by now, and Harry really didn't understand why this wasn't happening. There had to be something he was missing, he was sure.

"What would you do if you were in my position, Harry? What do you think the proper punishment should be, given the circumstances?"

Harry blinked, surprised by the question. He supposed any normal teenager in his situation would think it a trick question and answer with something cute like detention or something equally downgraded. When he caught sight of Snape rolling his eyes, Harry knew that he was probably thinking the same thing and was obviously expecting that sort of answer out of him. And everyone knew how he just hated to disappoint Snape.

"Honestly? Well... I suppose I'd do my best to see that the punishment fits the crime," he decided solemnly and, seeing the smug, expectant look Snape eventually sent the Headmaster after his surprise subsided, added, "but I'd probably question the motives first."

"We are already very much aware of you're... _motives_, Mr Potter," Snape informed, his tone implying exactly what he thought about Harry's usage of that word. "But petty revenge certainly doesn't qualify as such."

"Now, now, Severus," Dumbledore admonished. "Harry has yet to give his side of the story. Please continue, my boy."

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably and shifted in his seat, finding himself in the spotlight and suddenly having no idea what he should say. In hindsight, stealng drugs from one of his godfathers band mates and stashing it in Nott's private room probably wasn't one of his better ideas. In fact, this whole thing seemed incredibly stupid to him now, but that didn't mean he was completely unfamiliar with this feeling.

In the past, Harry could recall numerous situations similar to this. Situations that left him with nothing to say that could make much sense to anyone but him if said out loud, inevitably coming out completely wrong when he tried to explain in way he thought others may be able to understand. Situations where he would eventually find himself saying, "it seemed like a good idea at the time", after struggling with thoughts he just couldn't seem to form into words to try to make other people understand his odd reasoning, confusing himself in the process, and somehow unintentionally managing to convince everyone else he was choking under the pressure of trying to find a reasonable lie when he was actually trying to interpret the truth.

No, unless scribbled in one of his notebooks or sung aloud with clever melodies, words never seem to come that easy to him, but he was determined not to let that happen now, not when the consequences could be leaving the Academy. He had to get out of this somehow. Despite the complicated mess of problems he had been faced with lately, Harry couldn't remember a time when he was quite this content. Hogwarts Academy was a school dripping with rules and guidelines, most of which he didn't really understand, yet living here in such a short amount of time had brought him a sense of freedom he found himself unwilling to let go of.

Snape gave him a irritably impatient, prompting look and Dumbledore quirked a smile when Harry stared back at him defiantly, refusing to say anything until Snape huffed and looked (glared) in the opposite direction.

"Well, um, I think you should know the whole story," Harry began, pointedly addressing the headmaster only. He went through his explanation in a slow, meticulous fashion, carefully leaving out Draco's name and most other details, but keeping it as honest as he could. He didn't say anything about where he got the drugs, not even what it was, but he thought it was best not to leave out Nott's homophobic slurs, the fact that he was only trying to defend his friend against a completely unfounded but impending gay bashing, and Nott's continuing threats to both of them as he came up out of the water.

When he was finished, Dumbledore's expression was thankfully one of understanding. Snape looked about as doubtful as could be expected, but surprisingly curious. Glad that it was over and done with, Harry sat back and waited for one of them to say that the road to hell was paved with good intentions.

"And who exactly is this 'friend' of yours?" Snape questioned sceptically, wanting a name. It wasn't that he didn't believe the boy. Quite the contrary, actually. It seemed exactly like something Potter would do, but if this friend the boy was speaking of was who he suspected it was, Potter's story didn't quite pan out unless he was missing something. He had found out first hand just how protective Potter could be of the ones he considered close to him, but surely Potter hadn't placed Draco in that dangerous category.

Try as he might, he seriously couldn't understand this boy. When he had first confronted Potter, there was an unspoken understanding that he wouldn't go to Dumbledore until Potter explained himself, and even if the chances of him not going to the Headmaster at all after that were slim to none, Snape was shocked that Potter didn't take the chance to escape punishment by keeping it between himself and his professor, but went straight to Dumbledore with it instead. Taking responsibility just didn't seem like something a kid like Potter would do.

"Does it matter?"

"Your tale of intrepidly saving your disadvantaged friend from a skinny teenage boy was quite fantastic, Mr Potter, I assure you. Far be it from me to tell you it's fabricated." The sarcasm in the Chemistry Professor's voice was so thick one could cut a knife with it, and Harry was quick to attempt it.

"There were three of them! What do you suppose I should've done, Professor? Stand there and watch them beat the shit out of him?"

"Language, Harry," Dumbledore advised, his eyes going back and forth between the two as they spoke.

"Do you really expect me to believe you planted drugs on a student, subsequently getting him expelled, because you were trying to protect your little boyfriend from some childish name-calling?" Even Snape knew this wasn't true, especially if his assumption was correct about who this person was, but if this matter was going to be resolved, they needed a name.

"That's quite enough, Severus." Dumbledore knew that this was Severus' way of trying to get him to crack, but the man was crossing the line and he needed to know that this wasn't an interrogation and Harry Potter wasn't a criminal suspect.

"I don't care what you believe! I'm telling the truth. It wasn't just some stupid 'name-calling', it was a threat. And shouldn't sticking up for a minority be considered a good thing? You can call me a liar and insult me all you want, but I'm not giving you his name!" Harry was aware that his voice was raising, but he had no idea when he had stood up from his seat or how he was able to do so without any feeling in his legs.

"Detention!"

Harry growled in frustration, so close to ripping his hair out. "For what?!"

"Could you please excuse us for a moment, Severus?" Dumbledore requested calmly, a bushy brow raised and interlacing his fingers in front of him in contemplation.

Snape continued to glare daggers at the raven haired boy, but wasted no time in obeying the Headmaster, turning smartly on his heel and marching toward the exit. Before he could even touch the handle, however, there was a rapid series of knocks on the door before it opened, revealing Sirius as he stuck his head in. Snape glared at him coldly, but stepped aside to let him by.

Now that Harry knew exactly what Dumbledore had been waitng for, he slumped back into his seat and tried his best to avoid his godfathers gaze. He knew it was unfounded, but he couldn't help feeling somewhat betrayed. Insulted, even. He should've known the Headmaster would call his godfather, but after so long of essentially being on his own and avoiding any authority figures at all costs, he just wasn't expecting being treated like such a child. He wasn't too keen on seeing Sirius now, either, still sort of bitter from the night before.

"Ah, Sirius. Please, take a seat," Dumbledore gestured to the seat beside Harry.

"Sorry it took so long to get here. There was a traffic jam on- Christ, Harry. You okay kid? What happened?" Sirius questioned in concern once he caught sight of Harry's injury. He threw a suspicious glare at Snape, obviously wanting to think he was the culprit.

Snape rolled his eyes before disappearing out the door in a swirl of black, closing it a bit too hard to be considered normal. As he descended down the stairs, the first thing he heard was the voice of his godson inquiring as to where he was. He sighed, wondering what crisis the blond had to over-dramatically inform him of today.

"What is it, Draco. I'm-" he paused upon seeing the state his godson was in. While Draco's usual appearance was immaculate to the point of being obsessive and vainglorious, the boy now looked as if he had just gotten out of bed and threw on whatever he could reach before darting out the door. His hair was ruffled to rival Potter's own and looking to his sock-covered feet, Snape noticed that the boy had opted to go without shoes.

When Draco caught sight of his godfather desending the stairs, he jumped out of his seat and approached him hurriedly. "Sev!"

"What on earth... Is this what living in the dormitory has reduced to you?"

"Were you just with Potter?" Draco asked without thinking, already knowing the answer by Severus' irritated demeanor. Very few people had the ability to get under his godfather's skin like Potter could. He already knew what this had to be about and though he hated the fact that Potter thought he had the right to interfere in the first place, he couldn't let Potter get expelled for defending him.

Actually... he could have, now that he thought about it, but he doubted he had much of a choice now. Plus, his plan wouldn't work if the raven was expelled. Whether he liked it or not, Harry Potter was an important factor in the ultimate design of succeeding in his goal.

Yes, this was exactly how he wanted to spend his Saturday morning. No shower, no breakfast, no shoes, and he was pretty sure there was a knot in the back of his hair he would never be able to comb out.

Severus raised a brow in barely concealed surprise before his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He took Draco's elbow and the blond sighed as he led him over to a corner for a bit of privacy, determined to get answers. "What do you know?"

Back upstairs, Harry stared blankly out the window after Dumbledore finished explaining the situation to Sirius, running a hand through his hair in what was fastly becoming a habit. Sirius was looking disappointed in him, but strangely proud at the same time. He knew how his godson could be when it came to his friends and the fact that he was risking expulsion to protect them was an extreme example of this. It was simultaneously one of the best and worst qualities about Harry; the almost territorial protectiveness he showed to the ones he loved, but with the inability to know when he was going too far, digging a ditch he wouldn't be able to get out of.

"Though I disapprove of Severus' methods, I have to admit that resolving this would be substantially less difficult if we had your friends attestation. I assure you, nobody has to know you gave me his name," Dumbledore promised.

Harry looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't get him involved in this." The answer was pretty automatic. He didn't even have to think before responding, and maybe he was being stubborn, but after last night, finding out first hand how Draco was treated by his own father and already having witnessed and having a part in many of the blond boys other various problems, he didn't want to cause Draco any more trouble than he already had.

Neither Sirius or Dumbledore looked very disappointed, having expected this. "I'm not saying I don't believe you, my boy, because I do, but when the school board hears about this, their not just going to take my word for it. They'll need evidence. And even though you say you were only trying to protect yourself and a friend, that doesn't change the fact that another student was wrongfully expelled because of what we found underneath his bed. Much less the fact that you brought Oxycodone into the school. And before you answer," Dumbledore held up a hand, seeing Harry was about to speak. "You should know that this could determine whether or not you're allowed to stay at the Academy."

Harry dropped his gaze. He supposed he owed it to the Headmaster to at least consider it. After all, Dumbledore could've just expelled him without bothering to get an explanation from him and went about his day, but he didn't. And really, would it be so much trouble for Draco to come up and agree with him? It's not like he knew that much anyway, and it would probably only take a few minutes to give his story. Harry wanted to keep Draco out of this, he really did, but if the concequences of doing so was expulsion...

"Well, Harry?" Sirius prompted.

Harry sighed in surrender, then paused, leaning forward toward the desk as he replayed what the Headmaster just said, his brow furrowing deeper in confusion as Dumbledore and his godfather straightened a little in anticipation.

"Wait... Oxycodone? I didn't-"

A knock on the door interrupted him, and Snape walked in a moment later without waiting for an invitation. Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise at his expression, anger, disappointment and something not quite remorse combining in a way that made him look vaguely constipated. He made his way over to Dumbledore and said something behind his hand into the Headmasters ear that Harry couldn't make out even though he was only three feet away and Snape wasn't even whispering.

"Oh, really. Well, that certainly explains a lot," Dumbledore muttered after Snape was finished, relief washing over his features. However, when Snape went to leave again, Dumbledore halted him with a scrutinous look. "Are you sure this is reliable, Severus?"

Reluctantly, Snape nodded.

"Wonderful." The Headmaster turned his attention to Sirius. "I must apologize for wasting your time, Sirius. It appears this was just a terrible misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding?" Sirius echoed, an almost painful look of confusion overcoming his features.

"It appears so. A very different account of the situation has just been brought to my attention from a trustworthy source." Harry watched in stunned silence as Dumbledore picked up what he knew was the sheet containing his testimony and ran it threw the paper shredder beside his desk. "Now, if you would all please excuse me, I believe I have a few phone calls to make."

Harry blinked. "I can go?"

"Yes, you may. However, entering another students room without permission is strictly against school policy. Meet with me after lunch on Monday and we'll discuss your punishment. Everything has been resolved, my boy."

Speechless, Harry turned to walk away, his godfather in tow. He didn't make it halfway to the door, however, before Dumbledore found that he had something more to say.

"And just for future reference, Harry, the next time you have a problem, I'd appreciate it if you would bring it to me before the situation spins out of your control. No matter how admirable your intentions were, taking responsibility for something that isn't your fault can only lead to trouble." When Harry confusedly nodded his assent, the Headmaster continued. "That being said, do you have anything you'd like to tell me?" Dumbledore inquired, motioning to his own lip with one hand as he dialed numbers with the other.

Still stunned, Harry shook his head in the negative as he opened the door for his godfather, still facing the Headmaster. "No, sir."

When Dumbledore waved him off, Harry and Sirius made their way down the stairs in confused silence after shutting the door behind them. As he came to the end of the stairs, Harry could've groaned upon seeing Draco standing there with Snape, now realizing the reason he had been exempt from punishment. He tried not to laugh after noticing the blonde's appearance and decided to wait until Snape was gone to make himself known.

"That was the weirdest conference I've ever been to," Sirius stated from beside him, leaning against the wall. He gave Harry an imploring look. "You did do it, didn't you?"

Harry barely glanced at him. "Um. Most of it, yeah."

He fully expected his godfather to lecture him, but Sirius knew he would just be wasting his breath telling Harry what he already knew. Their argument from the night before was hanging over them like a dead elephant, just waiting to be acknowledged.

"You should really put something on that lip, kiddo," Sirius commented instead, looking at it, then up at Harry. "A fight?"

Harry nodded yes to the needless question and looked away guiltily. Sirius sighed.

"I brought you here to make a new start, Harry, but that's not gonna happen if you keep falling back into old habits," Sirius told him, unknowingly repeating what Remus had said to him the night before.

"I know, Sirius. It was a mistake. It won't happen again," Harry promised breezily.

There was a tense moment of silence and both of them were sure that this was the first time it has ever been this awkward between them. They both knew that both of them were stubborn as hell, but Sirius was the first to break.

"I'm sorry!" Harry gave him a startled, questioning look at his sudden outburst. "For last night. I'm sorry," Sirius repeated. "It was totally inappropriate to bring that up."

"But you were right," Harry argued, running a hand through his hair. "You didn't say anything that wasn't true."

"I know that, but I had no right to say it. I was so stupid. Saying that, bringing it up just because I was mad and after all the shit you've been through is just- Gah-"

"Calm down, Sirius," Harry told him, almost panicking as he patted his godfathers back because Sirius sort of looked like he was about to hyperventilate and Harry didn't know what to do if he did. "It's fine. I was mad, too."

"You had the right to be, I didn't," Sirius protested vehemently, taking hold of Harry's shoulders. "I didn't want to believe that Peter had anything to do with what happened, but... I honestly don't know if he might."

Stunned, Harry stumbled back a step. "You're saying that now, but-"

"He was there when it happened. I don't know if Peter was using back then, but maybe I should've suspected-"

"Ask him," Harry told him beseechingly. "That's the only way I can know for sure, Sirius."

Hesitantly, Sirius nodded. "I will, Harry, but... digging up graves isn't exactly moving on and starting fresh," he said, then winced at the analogy.

"How can I move on if the graves refuse to stay buried?" Harry demanded. "I'm sick of this. I'm sick of thinking about it every day and wondering whose fault it was."

"Harry..."

"I have to know," Harry repeated, ignoring his godfathers sympathy. "Okay? I have to know for sure."

Resolutely, Sirius nodded again, and just like that, the subject was closed until further notice. He returned to his previous position leaning on the wall and they continued to watched Snape and Draco's interaction. "So, what does your bitchy blond friend have to do with all of this?"

Harry chuckled, thankful for the change of topic. He knew Sirius didn't neccesarily like Draco and vice versa, usually only referring to each other as 'Harry's blond friend' and 'Harry's godfather', but the way they always insulted each other behind the others' back was endlessly amusing to Harry.

"Hey, he's the one that got me out of it." Or at least he assumed so.

"You think?" Sirius inquired, guessing that Harry didn't really for certain.

Harry nodded, leaning forward to hear their conversation, but trying his best to stay out of sight. Now that they were closer, he and Sirius both could hear them pretty clearly.

"So, is he still going to be expelled?" Draco questioned, uncomfortable with asking as it made him seem like he cared, following his godfather to the back door leading to the main building.

"Thanks to your interference, unfortunately not," Snape answered, making Draco smirk. Said smirk disappeared when Snape turned a hard glare on his godson. "However, by all means, he should have been. I don't appreciate you being dishonest with me, Draco, and I definitely don't appreciate you finagling me into lying for _Potter_." The name was spat to inflict the severity that insult had caused him, and Draco flinched.

"I wasn't-"

"Do I look like a fool to you?" Sarcastic or not, Draco knew better than to answer that question. "You thought it wise to completely abused my kindness by holding it over my head, knowing I wouldn't allow that boy to bring you down with him, but believe me, I was sorely tempted to let him. This won't ever be happening again, Draco, so consider yourself lucky that I let you off this time, because next time you won't be so lucky."

Draco sighed. "It was for entirely selfish reasons, Sev, I assure you," he tried. That, too, was technically a lie. He didn't do it for _entirely_ selfish reasons, but Severus was quick to call him on it nevertheless.

"Did you know, Draco, that the eighth circle of hell is reserved for liars?"

Draco dropped his head, something close to a pout on his face. "I'm sorry," he said, trying his best to look it. He really was sorry, but he just didn't see any other options at the time. He was aware that he had basically betrayed his godfather for Potter's sake, so it wasn't going to be easy to get back in Severus' good graces. He could remember countless times Severus had gotten him out of trouble for no other reason than because Draco was his favorite.

Making his bottom lip tremble, Draco wondered if crying would be going too far. It wasn't as though Snape wasn't as tough as he looked, he was, but Draco was something of a weak spot for him, something that came from watching the boy grow up and spending so much time with him. He knew he must look terribly pathetic like this, but nobody was in the lobby at the moment to see him playing the pity card on one of Hogwarts most terrifying Professors anyway, so why not.

When Draco bit his lip and looked up at him uncertainly with 'the eyes', Snape narrowed his. "Oh, stop your snivelling. You know that doesn't work on me," he claimed, but couldn't restrain an amused smirk when Draco grudgingly dropped the act, crossing his arms petulantly and looking in the other direction like the sulking child Snape knew he was. "Though, I must admit," he began, earning a hopeful look from his godson. "Pulling that off took a great deal of cunning. You used every resource available to get what you wanted. Very impressive."

He pulled a practically preening Draco into a rare hug, letting him know that while not all was forgiven, Draco was still his godson.

"Now, I'd say you should do something with that hair of yours before something makes a nest of it," Snape taunted, ruffling said hair before pulling away.

"Yeah? Well, I'd say the same to you," Draco responded cheekily, laughing when it earned him a cuff on the head and a mock-insulted look. He watched him leave, a serene expression on his face, but started slightly when he heard a sniffle from behind him. He almost tripped at the scene presented behind him once he turned around.

Potter and his godfather were standing side by side in identical poses, both of their arms were crossed and both of their heads were tilted to one side, watching as Snape disappear out of view. They wore the same wondering expression on their faces.

"That was really touching," Sirius commented, actually meaning it. "What a strange relationship."

"I didn't know they were so close," stated Harry musingly as if Draco wasn't standing there, looking at the door Snape went out of over Draco's blond head.

"Like godfather, like godson, Harry. It's a survival technique," Sirius nodded to himself. "The devious find strength in numbers."

A smirk pulled on Harry's lips at his godfather's matter-of-fact tone. "Right," he agreed, then turned his attention to Draco, who was watching them both incredulously. "So, what did you tell him?"

"I told him I was the one who put you up to it," Draco confided, staring between the two of them. Potter had told him that they had been fighting the night before, but looking at them now, he guessed they had made up since then.

"Snape wouldn't believe that," Harry said undoubtedly.

"Of course not, but he knew that was what I was going to tell Dumbledore and since I'm his favorite student, he took care of it."

"What would you have done if he called your bluff?" Sirius asked, curious.

Draco shrugged. "Improvise, probably."

"You clever little devil," Harry grinned, impressed.

Sirius clapped his hands together. "Well, this escape from punishment deserves a little celebration, don't you think? Harry tells me you're into photography," he swung an arm around both of their shoulders, but pulled back when Draco snarled at him, as if afraid the boy might try to bit him or something. He let out a nervous little giggle. "Anyway... some art students are putting a show together at Eighth & Rail tonight. How 'bout it, Harry and Harry's blond friend?"

Draco glared at the name, offended, and Harry gave him an accusing, 'are you stupid?' stare. It was fine calling Draco that in private, but he thought Sirius would know better than to say it right in front of the boy.

Sirius cleared his throat uncomfortably when the silence continued and bounced on his feet awkwardly. "Uh, why don't you think about, huh? I'll see you later, 'kay, Harry?"

"See ya," Harry half waved at his godfather, watching him leave. Once Sirius left the building, he turned to Draco with an apologetic look. "Sorry about that. I don't think he has a filter between his brain and his mouth," he apologized, but Draco waved it off and changed the subject.

"Why didn't you just give them my name in the first place, Potter?"

"Because it had nothing to do with you," Harry claimed easily, taking a quick glance around the lobby and the private building entrance to make sure nobody was watching. Lucky for him, it was a nice day outside so nobody wanted to stay indoors.

"It had everything to do with me. By the way, I think you should be thanking me right about now. Do you know what could've happened to you if I didn't show up when I did? You would've been sent to some disgusting public school with all of those uncouth- Where are you going, Potter? I'm speaking to you!"

"Shh," Harry rounded on him with an irritated look, pulling the blond into the private building with him before he attracted any unwanted attention. He continued to drag Draco further into the building by the arm, thankful that hardly anyone was out in the hall at the moment. It being a Saturday, mostly everyone was outside doing there own thing.

"Where the hell are you taking me, Potter?" Draco's question was answered when Potter turned the knob on a room that must've been Nott's, and he really should've known. He and Potter both blinked in surprise when it actually opened, obviously having been unlocked. Draco threw cursory glances over his shoulder when the raven went inside and flipped the light switch on, following him a second later. As expected, the room was devoid of all personal belongings and only the bare essentials remained.

"Dumbledore said they found a bottle of Oxycodone under Nott's bed," Harry finally explained, walking straight over to the bedside table while Draco stayed by the door, unwilling to go any further. He wasn't sure what Oxycodone was, but he figured it had to be whatever drug Potter had stashed somewhere in this room.

"And?" Draco prompted, failing to see the ravens point.

"And I didn't put it there," Harry finished, reaching behind the lamp and, sure enough, he pulled out the same little baggy he had put there about a week before. He lifted it up for Draco to see, "I put _this_ right _there_," he said, pointing to the table.

It took Draco less than a second to understand what he meant and he found it endlessly ironic that after everything that's happened, Nott turns out to be a pill popper. The blond was quick to question Potter as to why he didn't tell Dumbledore this when he suspected it.

"Because I'm not a snitch," was Harry's immediate answer. He gave Draco a serious look. "And neither are you."

"The hell I'm not," Draco protested. "You do know they're going to let him back into the Academy, don't you? You have to tell Dumbledore and-"

"And what?" Harry questioned, cutting him off. "Tell him the truth? That instead of bringing a perscription painkiller you could get over the counter at any pharmacy like he thought before, I brought an illegal drug that could get me into some _real_ trouble? I don't think so," Harry finalized, pocketing the weed as he made his way back to the door and shut off the lights. Draco blocked him before he could walk out.

"Curious that you know so much about this, Potter." The suspicion in Draco's voice was almost tangible, demanding an explanation. Harry gave him a look that clearly warned him to drop it before hurriedly changing the subject.

"Snape was right about one thing, Nott isn't an indomitable force, he's just a skinny, homophobic teenager with an overinflated ego. A housefly in comparison to some of the shit I've had to face before."

That was certainly something to wonder about, Draco thought as they crossed the now crowded lobby and entered the dormitory. Not unlike the so many mysteriously intriguing things about Potter's past that he didn't and wouldn't understand unless he asked, questions that Draco thought were inappropriate for him to ask. The top reason he hadn't was because he wanted to avoid the ultimately tense situation that would surely spark from that conversation.

He had noticed that Potter liked to consider his past a closed book except when concerning the individuals he deemed as family, only allowing the public to read the cover and special cases to read the footnotes. In Peter Pettigrew's case for example, there were characters in the book that only knew the parts in which they were mentioned, but would never be considered trustworthy enough in Potter's eyes to read it. Everyone else was kept at a safe distance.

"That was very poetic, Potter," came the eventual sarcastic responce. Something Draco always fell back on whenever he didn't know what else to say, like now.

Harry laughed, rolling his eyes as they approached their dorm room. "Maybe I should write it down," he mused, opening the door and letting Draco in first. The room was empty and Harry had to guess the rest of his roommates were headed to lunch early. "By the way, I like your new look. I always did think shoes were overrated," he teased.

"It was a necasary sacrifice," Draco explained, purposely cryptic, making a beeline for his dresser.

Harry put on an exaggerated gasp. "You sacrificed your two hour grooming ritual on my account?"

Draco cast a fleeting glare over his shoulder. "Don't look so flattered, Potter. You're not _that_ important," he claimed pompously as Potter flopped down onto his bed and ignored the glare sent in his direction for it.

"Right. Well, what do you think about that art show? You coming?"

"I didn't think you would want to go," Draco commented, ignoring the question for now.

"Why not? I'm not completely uncultured," Harry grinned, watching as Draco went through every drawer in search of the perfect outfit.

"You're not?" Draco backfired, sending a coy little smirk over his shoulder at the raven before going back to his task. "You just don't seem the type that would want to spend your Saturday night looking at art when you could be at some club."

Harry perked up at that. "Or we could do both! We could go to Sodom and Gomorrah. They have these laser lights that-"

"Sodom and Gomorrah?" Draco ochoed in incredulous amusement. "This is just a shot in the dark here, Potter, but that wouldn't happen to be a gay club, would it?"

"Why?" Harry smirked, an eyebrow raised. "Does it make you uncomfortable... Lot?"

The fact that Draco's plan required him to be seen in public with Potter as much as possible was what made him consider it, but it was the blatant challenge in Potter's voice that made up the deciding factor.

"Of course not," Draco scoffed pompously. "But if anyone hits on me, Potter, you're paying the price."

"Whoa, you're actually gonna go with me? What about your dad?" Harry questioned, surprised at this sudden change of attitude. He had thought for sure that Draco would never go anywhere with him again after what happened last time. "I mean, there could be paparazzi, right?"

_I'm counting on it_, Draco thought maliciously, hiding a smirk. "I wouldn't worry about that, Potter." He surveyed the tops he had displayed on his bed, already having decided on everything else. All three shirts were practically identical aside from their color.

Harry tapped his chin in thought, then grinned. Draco could practically see the light bulb come on above his head. "Well, I suppose I can be your temporary jealous boyfriend for tonight."

Draco looked at him in scrutiny, thinking of the consequences of _that _happening. While it would help his cause, there was absolutely no telling what Potter would do if he agreed to it. The boy was frustratingly unpredictable. "Never mind, Potter. I can take care of myself."

Harry laughed. "Oh, it's too late now. You already said it. Wouldn't want to 'pay the price', now would I?" The raven looked at the selection Draco had on his bed. He picked up the red one before tossing it to the blond, knowing it would take the boy forever to decide. "Don't worry, cupcake, I won't let anyone touch you but me," Harry cooed.

It didn't escape Draco's attention that whenever Potter had a say in what he wore, he always picked something red. It was something to wonder about, but since the raven almost never got to have any say when it came to his clothing, he supposed it didn't really matter. Plus, he was in a hurry. Lunch had probably already started and he was starving after having missed breakfast. If he was any less narcissistic, he would've postponed his shower. And while that wasn't the case, he did need to hurry, knowing Potter was planning to wait for him.

"Who said I want _you _touching me? -Idiot," he added in revenge for that 'cupcake' hypocorism on his way toward the bathroom. He didn't so much as pause when Potter followed.

"Well, it's gonna be pretty difficult to dance with you if I can't touch you," Harry reminded wryly.

"You know what?" Draco clinked his tongue, as if considering something. "I change my mind. I'm not going anywhere with you. There's no telling what could happen," Draco concluded, about to close the door, but made to wait when Potter took hold of the doorknob.

"Aw, what if I promised to be good?"

"I'm positive that nothing short of a leash and collar could possibly make you behave." He had already decided he was going and both of them knew it, but Draco supposed it was second nature for them now to just argue for the hell of it.

"Ooh, kinky," Harry laughed at the blonde's glare.

Draco glanced toward the door pointedly, then back at Potter with an elegant brow raised. "Are you going to allow me to take my shower, Potter?"

"What, you're not gonna ask your temporary lover to join you? Some boyfriend you are," Harry huffed in mock-offence.

Then wisely stepped out of the way before the door could hit him in the face.

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**Authors Note: **Well, it's official; Gay marriage is banned in California. As in, it is now illegal (again) in that state as well. As sad and disappointing as that is, I'm glad to say that a San Francisco attorney is preparing a legal challenge in response. It probably won't do any good, but I suppose it's worth a shot.

Consider yourselves forewarned, people. The next chapter isn't going to be about them going to the club, though that will most likely happen a lot before its over with. It will probably be mentioned, but I've got plans for chapter fourteen.

Sodom and Gomorrah, for those who don't already know, are towns mentioned in the Bible that were destroyed because of 'sins so grievous'. I'm sure everyone can make the connection between Sodom and sodomy, so I'm not even going to explain that, but I'm not sure if everyone got the part where Harry teased Draco by calling him 'Lot'. Basically, he was just calling him morally righteous, which I'm fairly positive everyone knows that Draco is anything but.

And to anyone who wants to flame me for that tiny mention of the Bible at all in a slash story, I only have one thing to say to them: I WILL NOT BE CENSORED!! This is the real world, people, nobody is moral here. Get use to it.

Anyway, I'm glad to say that the only thing that kept me from updating any sooner was the fact that my eldest nephew thought it would be a good idea to pour pink lemonade and many other sticky liquids over my keyboard. Other than that this chapter was finished pretty quickly.

Thanks to all my faithful and wonderful reviewers and everyone who reads these admittedly sporatically updated chapters at work. Your loyalty pleases me, you sneaky little devils. Anyone who wants to do the same, please do so. Reviews never fail to inspire me and I thrive on details.


	14. Sodom and Gomorrah

**Rating:** Mature.

**Warning: **Slash. OOC-ness. Profanity. Drug abuse.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the series. Nor any of the songs mentioned in this chapter.

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**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Sodom and Gomorrah**

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Sodom and Gomorrah, as Draco came to find, was very much appropriately named. Separated in two, while the club itself was technically just Gomorrah, the back room was Sodom, and anyone with half a brain could guess what it was used for. The two story building was situated in downtown Merlin, ironically on the corner of Judas Avenue. Flocks of people from all walks of life were lined up around the alley, anxious to get in and envious of the ones who already were. Having arrived earlier than most, he and Potter currently fit into the 'already in' variety.

After over two hours of leisurely viewing various paintings and photographs at Eighth & Rail, Draco had been quite caught up in explaining the key difference between an amateur shot and a professional shot, and basically criticizing everything in general, when he noticed that Potter was starting to seem a little anxious. He asked questions and looked generally interested in what the blond was saying, but Draco could see he was having difficulty keeping still. Despite this, however, the raven said nothing and after a while Draco had to assume it was out of courtesy on his behalf. He wasn't quite ready to leave, but suggested they did anyway, thinking it sort of sweet that Potter would choose to indulge him instead of speaking up.

They had taken a taxi, something Draco objected to firmly at first because it was so plebeian, but Potter just laughed at him, responsibly stating that his godfather had agreed to take his bike back to the Academy for him and that he didn't want to be arrested for DUI. The cab ride only lasted about twenty minutes, (-"Can't this thing go any faster? The speed limit is thirty, why are you only going twenty-five? God, these seats are disgusting, don't you ever have them cleaned?"-) taking them deeper into a more congested part of downtown Merlin that Draco had never seen before. Potter overpaid the affronted taxi driver in apology for Draco's constant antagonizing behavior and a ten minute walk later, the ground was pulsating beneath their feet as the stood at the entrance of Sodom and Gomorrah.

Even after witnessing it first hand, Draco still had no idea how Potter had managed to get in without being carded. He knew the raven had a fake ID on him, but it was hardly needed because the relatively young-looking bouncer hadn't even so much as a raised eyebrow at him. Draco supposed it had something to do with the sanctimoniously disinterested look he had planted firmly in place as they had approached the door, looking for all the world that he hadn't cared whatsoever whether they got in or not. It was a perfected looked that could only be achieved through tons of practice, Draco knew, having several masks of his own personally.

Unlike Potter, Draco had been carded, and since he didn't have a fake ID, he had been forced to use his real one and rely completely on his name. Easily concealing his apprehension, he had handed it over confidently. He suspected Potter knew all along that this would happen, because he didn't look surprised in the slightest when the bouncer saw the name Malfoy, translated it correctly as extremely loaded, then took a second look at Draco, who rolled his eyes, tapping his foot impatiently like the spoiled rich kid he was until the bouncer smirked in amusement and let him passed.

True to form, Draco showed no appreciation for this, giving the impression that he was mildly irritated for having been made to wait even a second, and Potter had chuckled at his 'thou shall never refuse a Malfoy' performance as they entered the building after paying and receiving their red S&G stamps.

Draco had been feeling pretty cocky until he actually saw what Sodom and Gomorrah was like on the inside. The air was incredibly thick and he didn't think he had ever seen so many people packed so closely in one place before, moving in tandem with the 'thump-a thump-a' of the club. The first thing he noticed (aside from the men wearing next to nothing and dancing on podiums, of course) were the laser lights that Potter had mentioned before. Making the room look even darker than it seemed, they were spiraling in time with the music in every color of the rainbow, blinking off and on and sporadically lighting up the random faces of those in the swarm of collected bodies on the transparent platform raised two steps off the floor and the flimsy-looking flight of steps looking over the dance floor like a balcony.

All in all, Draco was trying in near desperation not to seem as intimidated as he felt. Never in his life had he been to a place like this and he was starting to think that maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all. Half of these people weren't wearing shirts, making him feel extremely over-dressed even though he knew he wasn't. Helpful to his cause or not, this was entirely out of his comfort zone. He wasn't like these people. He wasn't provocative or promiscuous or even that terribly fond of dancing. He could just imagine what his father would think when he found out about this.

But wasn't that exactly want he was counting on?

Oblivious to his dilemma, Potter only served to increase these negative feelings by pulling him straight onto the dance floor and into the giant mass of moving human flesh, obeying the orders of Lady Gaga as she requisitioned them to "Just Dance".

And that was how Draco ended up where he was now, smack dab in the middle of a sea of slick, sweaty bodies. All around him were barely-clothed men whose only care in the world was instant gratification and their looks. Really, so many narcissistic people in one place should've been illegal.

He thought he saw Potter mouthing the words to multiple songs, but Draco had no way of knowing if he was actually singing along because he couldn't hear a thing over the collected noise and the sheer volume of the music. After the first dozen songs, Draco had lost all concept of time, but he knew that he'd been dancing long enough for his mouth to become unbearably dry. Sweat that wasn't entirely his own was clinging to his too-hot skin, making him feel incredibly dirty, and the whole place smelled like it needed to have the cum scraped off the walls before it wound up transforming into a living thing. Sodom and Gomorrah was by far the trashiest place Draco had ever been in his life.

It was marvelous.

Finnigan had been absolutely right; Potter really was a great dancer, and if the way he was doing so at the moment was any consolation, the raven was doing a fabulous job of playing the possessive boyfriend. Respecting the blonde's wishes not to be hit on, his arms created a barrier between Draco and the rest of the world, and even though the looks they received suggested it was tempting, no one dared break that barrier. It might as well have been just the two of them on that dance floor, and though Potter had deigned to invite their roommates along on this extrusion, Draco was glad that they'd had other plans, which was mildly surprising because Draco didn't think Finnigan would have ever passed up on the opportunity to be in a room filled to the brim with barely-clothed gay men.

More often then not, Potter kept one arm wraped firmly around his waist and the other hand holding the back of Draco's neck to keep him close. A little too close, in Draco's opinion, and the blonde made sure to keep his hands on Potter's shoulders and chest to create a more comfortable distance.

This was the main difference between him and Potter when it came to physical contact. Draco put physical and emotional closeness in the same category (which was exactly where they should be) and as a result, had a habit of pushing away people that he felt could get too close to him emotionally. Potter, on the other hand, had the remarkable ability to see physical and emotional closeness on two different levels. He cautiously kept people at an emotional distance, but recklessly took the chance to keep them close physically. Draco didn't think Potter knew how dangerous a mindset like this was or how carelessly he could hurt people as a result of it, but he wasn't willing to find out first hand.

As it was, avoiding being close to the raven physically was nearly impossible. The boy had suffered kicks in the shins, elbows to the ribs, and a descent to the floor for getting too close and he still didn't get the message. Potter was like that one mouse out of a million that wouldn't stop going after the cheese no matter how many times it got shocked. The boy had no concept of personal space whatsoever, yet somehow, it was almost starting to seem like part of his charm.

Most of the time, Draco found himself stuck between wanting to push him away and pulling him closer, but like this, wrapped in his arms in the middle of a filthy dance floor in a promiscuous club in one of the worst parts of town, it didn't seem to matter. Like this, Draco could almost admit that he might possibly... actually _like_ Potter. Maybe.

Which was actually all the more reason to push him away, really, but Draco couldn't find the self-preservation necessary to do so, as it always decided to decrease when concerning Potter, which would probably explain why he was where he was at the moment.

However, now that he could see why the raven had been so anxious to get here, Draco was somewhat inclined to agree. It wasn't like anything he had ever experienced before. This place was a breeding ground for sin and criminal activity, but that was half of the appeal. It was somewhat addicting in a physical, adrenaline-inducing sort of way and the atmosphere alone was enough to get anyones blood pumping.

Yes, Draco could see exactly why anyone would be so attracted to places like this, but especially in Potter case. Granted, he had only known the raven for a few months and Potter may very well be the epitome of all things mysterious, but to the observant, it really didn't take very long to understand the little things.

Take for example the fact that when things ever became boring, tense, or tedious, Potter would always start to seem a bit restless and take it eagerly upon himself to defuse the situation with humor, physical closeness, and a charming grin. This is why Potter was so at home in front of an audience and exactly why he would make the perfect rock star. It was as if it was engraved in his DNA. It was just who Potter was.

To those who wouldn't know any better (like certain greasy-haired chemistry professors), it would seem that Potter was just another ne'er-do-well teenager who only gets into so much trouble because he was an arrogant attention-whore, but that really wasn't the case at all. Potter really wasn't attracted to trouble and attention. No, attention and trouble was attracted to Potter with the force a fucking magnet. There was just something about him.

Draco didn't notice when his body started moving of its own accord, but as he came out of his thoughts, he found himself staring over Potter's shoulder and into the envious blue eyes of a boy who looked even younger than himself. Draco blinked, but the boy was still there, only he wasn't looking at Draco. No, now he was staring at Potter as if the raven was Jesus Christ incarnate, wearing the most covetous expression Draco had ever seen. Narrowing his eyes, Draco tried to get a better look at this boy's appearance, unknowingly tightening his grip on Potter's shoulders as he did so.

Draco didn't think he knew the boy, but he did seem awfully familiar-looking, though that might be because they looked a little alike. The boy's features was no were near as aristocratic as his were, but there was a slight resemblance. His blond hair was longer and a small degree darker than Draco's own, falling partially into his face on one side. The boy's lustful eyes, noticeably blue even in so little light, never left Potter, not even as he spoke to a smirking, blond bartender who looked too much like him for them not to be related in some way. He was thin, again like Draco only skinnier, and just as tall. He was dressed in skinny jeans and a plain black tank that Draco was sure was meant for a girl to wear, and aside from the piercing on his lower lip, pretty average-looking overall.

A blank canvas for a con-artist.

He was... pretty, Draco supposed, but nothing special. Though, if his haughty expression and stuck up nose was anything to go by, the boy certainly _thought_ he was.

Draco almost glared at him before remembering that he had no idea who this kid was. This in mind, Draco tried to ignore him, but after two more songs had passed and the boy's incredibly rude gawking continued, Draco gave him a long, piercing glare, earning nothing but a raised eyebrow in return. Dissatisfied with this lack of response, Draco decided to test the waters a bit by moving closer to Potter so his arms were around the ravens neck, and sure enough, the boy narrowed his eyes at him in irritation.

A smirk played on Draco's lips as he danced with a new vigor and brought up a hand to play with the back of Potter's wild, raven black hair, acutely aware that he was dangling Potter in front on this boy like a piece of raw meat.

Potter caught his eye at this sudden act of enthusiasm, an amused yet questioning look on his face. Draco gave him a sweet smile in response, knowing the other boy was watching from his seat at the bar, and Potter let out a chuckle that Draco doubted he would've been able to hear if they weren't almost cheek-to-cheek.

"Having fun?" Potter asked, his breath hot against the blonde's ear. Draco nodded, trying to ignore the way he shivered. And it was true; messing with some strange, overly confident, Potter-obsessed kid was incredibly fun. Glancing back over to the bar, he was surprised but pleased to see that the boy was no longer there.

After another song had passed and another began, Potter took his hand in his, nodding his head toward the bar. Draco allowed himself to be pulled away from the sweltering amount of congested body heat, eager for something to pacify his thirst.

Draco slumped onto the bar stool, only just then realizing how beat he was. It took him a moment to remember that this was the same seat that that boy had vacated. He wanted to move, but didn't at the ridiculousness of doing so.

"What do you want?" Potter asked, motioning a bartender, a short, brunette man with faux-hawk, as he took the seat next to him.

"Whatever," Draco shrugged, trusting Potter not to chose something pink, even though it really wouldn't seem too out of place in a place like this.

"Vodka and Tonic's," Potter said when the bartender approached them, holding up two fingers.

The man raised a skeptical eyebrow. "ID?"

Potter obliged, sliding the fake piece of plastic across the bar along with some bills. Even as he was making their drinks, the bartender held up the photo of a man that really looked nothing like Potter except for having dark hair and light eyes. "Quick- How long have you been twenty-one?"

"Since I was fifteen," Potter answered coyly, earning a smirk from Draco. "Thanks," he said when the man handed the card and drinks over anyway.

"Little bad-ass kids," the bartender shook his head ruefully. "Promise not to drive?"

"Scout's honor," Potter joked, giving the appropriate three-fingered salute and grinning when Draco snorted.

The man sighed, watching as Draco took a sip from his. "Should I even ask?"

"Probably not," Draco answered mock-apologetically, taking another sip. He waited until the bartender was out of ear-shot before turning to Potter and asking, "Fifteen, Potter? Please tell me you were joking," but an answer was not forthcoming. In fact, he doubted the raven had even heard him at all.

Draco followed Potter's line of sight... and there he was. That boy. He was leaning over the balcony, looking down at Potter as if the raven had a reason to stare, a coy little smile making his too-pouty-for-a-boy lips look even fuller. His haughty, confident expression was still intact, but it was down-played drastically now that he had Potter's attention, making Draco repress a scoff at how two-faced this kid was.

Potter, for his part, was hardly even blinking. At first, he was just staring blankly, but the longer he stared at the boy, a slow, spell-bound smile spread further and further on his lips, and suddenly, it wasn't just him and Draco anymore. It was Potter, the blue-eyed devil, and Draco left glancing between the two, wondering what silent conservation the two were having.

Why Potter had noticed this boy in the first place was beyond Draco. He certainly didn't stand out from the crowd. There was nothing attention-grabbing about him that Draco could see, but even he couldn't help but wonder how the seemingly young-looking boy had gotten passed the door.

Tilting his head to one side in a way he probably thought was cute, the boy brought up a hand and -never letting his eyes stray from Potter's- gave him a little wave before backing away, disappearing into the crowd behind him. And even when he was out of sight, Potter's eyes never left the balcony, making Draco's own eyes narrow in disgust at his stricken reaction to some random club boy.

"Potter-"

"I'll be right back," the raven rushed out distractedly before taking off through the crowds and up the stairs, leaving his drink where it was.

Draco gaped at his back until he disappeared, then went to glaring down at his drink as if it was somehow responsible. He thought of how he must look, then downed his drink, thinking himself incredibly pitiful to be sitting alone in a crowded club, moping because Potter was off chasing some slut. And anyway, wasn't Potter the one who was suppose to be acting like the jealous boyfriend tonight?

"Hey, Blondie. Buy you a drink?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "No," he answered immediately, not bothering to look at whoever it was.

"Alright. Well, at the risk of being rejected twice, would you care to dance then?"

"No," he repeated, letting his irritation taint the word, 'fuck off' on the tip of his tongue.

He had the nerve to say yes to prove that he didn't need Potter, but he did and he knew it. The raven was a very necessary part of his plan. Plus, he wanted to keep Potter thinking he was straight for as long as possible, and dancing with anyone but the raven at a gay club was a little counter-productive in that regard.

"Boyfriend?"

Blue-gray eyes snapped up to see the speaker, thinking it was whoever had asked him to dance and ready to tell him off, but it was the brunette bartender, who was leaning across the bar with his arms crossed, giving the blond a highly sympathetic look. Draco sighed, dropping his gaze.

"Temporarily," he answered vaguely.

The man chuckled. "Well, temporary or not, if he usually abandons you to go chase random twinks, maybe you should consider a leash."

Draco couldn't help but smirk at the irony of having said that exact same thing not too long ago, and was about to say that he already had considered it, but was interrupted by another bartender, the blond one that had been talking to the slut Potter as currently chasing.

"Watch who your calling a twink, Mercer. That's my baby brother you're talking about," the man warned in passing, preoccupied with wiping the counter down with a rag and pushing the shorter bartender aside to do so.

The one called Mercer blinked. "Oh. That was Zach?" The blond man just nodded in response, giving Mercer a quick, irritated look. "Well, maybe you're the one that should consider a leash then, Smith," he taunted, laughing when it earned him a dirty rag thrown in his face in refute. He turned back to Draco. "Well, at least you have nothing to worry about. He probably already left anyway, since his curfew's at midnight," he informed optimistically, and Draco felt a little ashamed at how much relief he felt because of it as the man went back to his work.

"Hey, kid," the bartender called Smith took his empty glass and replaced it with a full one. He sighed when Draco raised a brow at him in confusion. "Let me give you a little tip, okay? If Zach wants that boyfriend of yours as much as I think he does, you might wanna spare yourself the heartache now and get a new one," he advised regretfully, then shrugged. "Or at least consider that leash thing seriously."

Utterly baffled, Draco furrowed his brows, but didn't say anything in response, and with one last would-be sympathetic look, the bartender motioned to the drink in front of him. "On the house, kid."

Draco was still thinking over what the man had said when an irreversibly disappointed-looking Potter dropped into the seat next to him.

"Poor Potter," Draco cooed. "Mourning the loss of the one that got away?"

Potter smirked, and Draco wondered if it felt as weak as it looked.

After that, everything pretty much went back to normal. They ordered shot after shot until Draco was having trouble sitting still without moving with the music. Potter might be a little better at holding his liquor, but Draco could tell that he was holding back majorly tonight. He knew this because he had seen first hand the condition Potter usually returned in on the nights he went out. Draco could remember a few nights in particular when the boy came back just a few hours before dawn, so smashed he could hardly walk without using the wall for support.

The mornings after never failed to make Draco feel incredibly self-righteous, waking to the sounds of Potter barfing his lungs out in the bathroom because he'd had too much the night before, or sleeping it off until noon and walking around hours after waking up with a seemingly permanent wince, cradling his pounding head.

Alcohol might be natures social-lubricator, but it can be a pretty dangerous combination with someone that doesn't have many inhibitions to start with, and it looked like Potter knew this, too. He could tell that the raven was on his best behavior, but he also knew that he wouldn't be if Draco wasn't with him. Potter's protectiveness was flattering, he'll admit, but it really wasn't helping with his may-or-may-not-like-Potter problem. He didn't want to like Potter. Or, at least not like _that_. With his plan in motion and Potter being a major part of it, it could only cause trouble.

"How did you know you liked guys, Potter?" Draco found himself asking after about his fifth shot, staring at his fingernails as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. Potter laughed, watching him as he swayed in his seat before putting a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

"Hm... How'd I know? Well, it might have been when I kissed my best friend in the fifth grade," he considered, earning a pondering look from the blond next to him.

"You're really strange, Potter," Draco decided after a minute of just staring into amused green eyes.

"And you're really entertaining when you're inebriated, Malfoy," the raven countered. His grin faded a bit when the blond made a disgusted face.

"Don't call me that," Draco told him.

"Sorry," Potter pacified, earning a dirty look from Draco because it felt like the raven was just humoring him, not taking him seriously. "Come on. I think you've had enough. It's almost midnight, anyway," the raven beckoned, taking Draco's hand and pulling him back onto the dance floor.

"What's at midnight?" Draco wondered aloud, surprising himself at not wanting to leave just yet.

"You'll see," was the enigmatic response as he was pulled into a sea of sweaty muscles and faceless bodies.

The alcohol coursing through his system had to have had an effect on the way he was dancing because after a while, he realized he'd lost his jacket somewhere and Potter was _very_ close. No, it wasn't Potter, it was _him_ that was close. Draco realized this, but wasn't exactly sober enough to care.

"You look fucking fabulous like this, you know that?" Potter informed him as if he was only just noticing, looking pleasantly surprised that the blond was having such a good time.

Draco smirked conceitedly. "Yeah? When don't I?"

Potter laughed, then looked up toward the ceiling and joined the crowd as they started jumping and whooping in excitement, adding even more volume to the pulsing beat that was Sodom and Gomorrah. Confused, Draco glanced up, too, just as confetti and glitter started falling from the ceiling, and it might have just been the alcohol, but when the energy of the screaming dance floor increased ten-fold and Potter hauled him up over his shoulder, Draco couldn't help but laugh even as he pounded weakly at the ravens back for the boy to stop spinning and put him down. It was like Potter's enthusiasm was contagious.

"Is this what you were waiting for?" Draco shouted over the roaring of the crowd when Potter finally put him down. Despite his incredulous tone, there was a huge smile on his face that became a little bigger when Potter took both of his hands and continued dancing.

"It's the best part!" Potter defended, the streamers and glitter in his hair making Draco laugh at how ridiculous he looked, even though he knew he probably looked just as ridiculous.

Draco had to admit that, despite the slut's -Zach's- brief cameo, tonight wasn't as bad as he imagined it would be. Though almost everyone he knew would probably see what he was doing as 'slumming' and he probably wouldn't have been caught dead in this place under any other circumstances, tonight had been the best time he'd had in ages. Sodom and Gomorrah was like a totally different world where reservations, inhibitions, and dignity meant next to nothing. It was refreshing to say the least.

The real world decided to return a short while later as they were beginning to leave, a short while passed midnight when everyone else was just starting their night. Draco realized what was about to happen and the reality of it had about the equivalent effect of a bucket of ice water poured onto his head.

Exiting the club, they were instantly bombarded with paparazzi -the paparazzi he himself had anonymously clued in on where Draco Malfoy would be and when. Draco had planned on acting surprised, even practiced the look in the bathroom mirror beforehand while he was getting dressed, but as it turned out, he really didn't have to act at all because once the camera's started flashing and a jumbled mess of questions were flown their way, Potter took Draco's hand and pushed the blond behind him, using himself as a human shield and ignoring the crowds even as he pushed through them.

Maybe Draco should've expected Potter to handle it like an expert, but he really hadn't. Actually, he hadn't really taken Potter's reaction into account at all, but he doubted Potter had any experience with the press before now. However, true to his unpredictable nature, he was handling this whole situation like any celebrity would, acting as if the mob of shouting people and flashing cameras and gawking pedestrians weren't even there.

Draco soon remembered how he should be acting and took several steps closer to Potter, purposely giving the camera's what they wanted as he 'shyly' ducked his face into Potter's shoulder and squeezed his arm. Potter gave him a worried look, rubbing the blond boy's back absentmindedly in a comforting manner with his other hand as he hailed a cab.

They didn't speak on the way back to Hogwarts. Or, at least Potter didn't. Draco had no such qualms, however, and argued dramatically with the taxi driver when he was told he couldn't smoke inside the vehicle (-"Would it really make much of a difference? The thing already smells like a trash can anyway!"-). The argument ended when Potter disinterestedly threw it out the window five seconds after it was lit.

Draco really didn't want or need the cigarette. He hardly ever did nowadays, since Potter had a pet peeve with seeing him smoke. No, he just needed an outlet. Trepidation was quickly sinking in at what he had done. He didn't regret it. No, everything had went almost exactly the way he had planned, but he was feeling a little apprehensive about what Potter's reaction to all of this would be.

So far, Draco had come up with two possibilities; either the raven would try to start distancing himself from Draco, which would in turn destroy all the plans the blond had made, or-

"I'm sorry," Potter murmured guiltily as they made their around the entrance building, his hands stuffed deeply into his coat pockets.

-take the fault completely on himself.

Draco supposed he should be applauding his camera-shy performance, but at the moment, he couldn't even bring himself to look at Potter. There was a tight ache in his chest that Draco recognized as guilt (a feeling he had been entirely unused to before meeting Potter), and maybe it was just the alcohol, but he was having difficulty resisting the urge to bite his nails, a habit his father had broke him of when he was twelve.

He was just another thing he hadn't taken into account in this whole scheme. Everything was going the way he wanted them to and he was getting exactly what he wanted, but he wasn't happy. Why? Because he forgot he had a conscience. Draco tried to ignore the stupid thing as often as possible, as it had a tendency to turn him into an emotional roller coaster, but it piped up occasionally nevertheless. He was much better off just sticking to logic and rational thought.

Okay, so he was technically only using Potter to get what he wanted, but what Potter didn't know wouldn't hurt him. The only way he could get hurt was if he ever found out that this whole thing was entirely Draco's design, if he found out that Draco was, in fact, using him to come out to his father in the most indirect, round-about way imaginable. So, as long as he kept the raven in the dark about that, everything would work out perfectly and Potter didn't have to be hurt along the way.

Even if he wanted to drop the plan and turn back now, he had already made both their beds. Come tomorrow morning, everyone will see the slanderous articles and incriminating photographs/video's and automatically start jumping to the simultaneously wrong and right conclusions. He had everything planned out perfectly and, unless some unknown comes into play, absolutely nothing could go wrong.

Now, if only he could keep the raven from blaming himself.

"Don't sweat it, Wonder Boy," Draco sighed, leaning on the wall and watching as Potter unlocked the back door to the entrance building as quietly as possible. "It's not your fault. I knew from the start what I could be getting myself into, so if anyone should be apologizing here, it's probably me."

"You do know they're gonna be calling you gay now, right? The press, the school, your dad," Potter put a special infliction on that last part.

Draco went to answer, but Potter shook his head and signaled him to be quiet as he locked the door back. He nodded, understanding that they could get caught and followed Potter through the lobby and into the dorm building.

"I'm not worried about that, Potter," Draco whispered when they approached the door at the end of the hall that read sixty-six. The raven stopped him when he went to enter their dorm by a single finger on his chest, his expression one of disconcerted pondering.

"So, what? You don't care what people think about you anymore?"

"Hn. Something like that," Draco responded vaguely, walking around Potter and heading straight for the bathroom.

The room was silent as Draco expected it to be, considering it was about one in the morning. He supposed it would be easier if he just followed Potter's example and waited until the morning to take a shower, but his clothes felt like they were sticking to his skin with the dried sweat of every person from Sodom and Gomorrah and there was just no way he was going to go to sleep feeling like the floorboard of a taxicab.

"The bouncer," Potter muttered aloud when he came out of the bathroom, making Draco start. He'd figured the boy would've been asleep in his own bed by now, not lounging across the sofa in nothing but a pair of worn pajama pants. He was staring up at the ceiling as if it held the answer to the universe. Draco sighed, making his way toward his bed and toweling his hair dry.

"What bouncer?"

"That bouncer that saw your ID. He's probably the one that tipped them off on where you were," Potter explained.

Draco chose not to respond, letting the raven come up with his own (completely wrong) conclusions. That pensive look on his face though... He looked as though he was deeply reflecting on something. Unusually quiet, too, for the raven-haired boy.

"What's on your mind, Potter?" Draco questioned, collapsing on top of his bed. "You've been like this since before we left the club."

He took a glance at Potter when the boy didn't answer. Draco gulped uncomfortably, realizing that it was the same expression he'd been wearing before he disappeared through the crowds looking for that kid from the club.

"He just looked so familiar..."

And, just like that, Draco's night was officially ruined.

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**Authors Note**: As you can plainly see, I changed my mind about the club scene. At first, I was planning to skip it entirely and use some flashbacks or something, but when I thought it through, I realized how I could use it to my advantage and how long this chapter would've been had I went with my original plan. Everything works out a whole lot better this way and I'm really grateful that I changed my mind because this relatively small problem got me thinking so much on the path this story is taking that I managed to work out a few major glitches that would've snagged me in the future. And actually, this decision was mostly thanks to the lovely reviewers that said they wanted to see it. Without them, I probably wouldn't have thought twice about leaving it out.

See? Feedback really does make a difference!

Since I liked the concept of the club Sodom and Gomorrah so much, I'm considering having it show up again in later chapters. Tell me what you guys think, okay? Also, Judas very loosely means 'betrayer of Christ', just so you know and in case you were wondering why Draco would consider that street name to be ironic.

Sacrilegious? Maybe.

I mentioned the song "Just Dance" by Lady Gaga, and at the risk of sounding like I'm trying to pimp it, you guys should definitely check it out if you haven't heard it already. It's incredibly catchy.

Ummm... Yep, that's it.

Review or die!


	15. Identified

**Rating:** Mature.

**Warning: **Slash. OOC-ness. Profanity. Drug abuse.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters mentioned in the series. Nor any of the songs mentioned in this chapter.

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**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Identified**

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Harry dragged himself into English Lit that Monday afternoon just as Professor Lupin started taking roll. Head hung and hands stuffed into his uniform jacket pockets, he looked for all the world like a defeated hero. Lifting his head, he raised a brow when he saw the stranger sitting in Remus's chair. A well-built young man with his left arm in a sling. Harry pursed his lips, but figuring he'd find out who the man was soon anyway, didn't say anything. He gave his excuse and apology to his professor, then scowled on his way to his seat when he saw Draco give him that smirk. That 'I know why you're so grumpy and I think it's hilarious' smirk that made Harry want to ruffle his hair just to see him wrinkle that pointy little nose.

He ignored the concerned look Remus gave him when he dropped his head down onto his desk with a thunk.

"Why so blue, Hare-bear?" Seamus questioned once Lupin went back to attendance, putting a consoling hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Dumbledore grounded him," Draco answered for him amusedly, still smirking when the raven turned to give him a grudging, suspicious stare.

"Snape told you, didn't he?" It wasn't a question, but Draco nodded smugly anyway. Harry huffed, crossing his arms in front of him, and aside from the stubble that said he had yet again forgotten to shave, it made him look quite childish. "Figures he wouldn't know the meaning of student/teacher confidentiality."

Draco laughed. "Neither do you."

"Wait. You knew before I did, but you didn't think to tell me?"

"No, I thought about it and decided to go with the 'ignorance is bliss' concept and let you enjoy what was left of your freedom. It was for your own good," Draco claimed righteously.

"I bet," Harry snorted, not buying it.

"What's going on?" Ron asked, his roommates conversation completely lost on him.

"Potter's under Hogwarts arrest," Draco explained. Potter's punishment amused the hell out of him now, but he had almost freaked when he had first found out that Potter couldn't leave the school.

Since Saturday night, the press had been on his story like lions on a gazelle and TDP was having a field day with it. They had practically been given gold, and Draco had been planning to exploit their attention while it was still focused on him, but then he found out Potter was essentially grounded and those plans were ruined. Draco was pissed and frustrated to the point of pouting like an eight year old that didn't get their way, but when he really thought about it, being seen with Potter directly after the paparazzi feeding frenzy would make it seem like he didn't care if he was caught and that was the exact opposite of what he wanted.

Draco knew from years of his fathers narrow-eyed, calculating looks that came right before being punished that Lucius could read expressions like an analyst and pick out lies even before they're told. So, if his father had seen any of the publicity circulating the tabloids and web pages, which Draco was sure he had been looking for on a daily basis since the first one was presented on TDP, then he would see his highly-disheveled son huddled up to the raven-haired boy, a surprised, camera-shy expression that Draco so carefully had in place at the time, and predicatively read that look how Draco wanted him to.

However, if Draco were to have another 'wild night out with his boyfriend', as the tabloids were calling it, right after the first one, Lucius would immediately know that he was milking attention and photo opportunities from the press, or at least have that kind of suspicion. That would lead to him finding out the truth, that his son was doing all of this on purpose, and Draco really didn't want him to.

It was all for the best that Potter had been grounded, that was for sure, because he wouldn't have thought twice about giving the press an encore performance. They already had enough to gossip about as it was, speculative theories about him being threateningly coerced into a publicity stunt by his father to make it seem as if Lucius Malfoy wasn't homophobic, theories about him being raised in a home environment so suppressive that he was lashing out now that he was away from his father's dictative dominion. While the first was completely ridiculous, and the later somewhat debatable, all of them had something to do with his father.

They still didn't have Potter's name, which was somewhat surprising considering they wanted it and they always had a way of obtaining information, through word of mouth, police records, or any other means necessary. It was only a matter of time before they introduced the name Harry Potter and stopped referring to him as the mysterious boyfriend.

The worst and best part about everything; Potter had absolutely no idea. The raven wasn't into gossip and he would most likely continue to be wholly oblivious until somebody screamed it directly into his ignorant, mutilated ears. As frustrating as it was to do so, Draco had to keep it that way for as long as possible.

"Malfoy?" Professor Lupin called out, dragging Draco's thoughts back to Earth.

"Here." _Unfortunately._

"Weasley?"

"Here!" The redhead answered, then went back to the conversation at hand. "What's that?"

"It's like house arrest," Blaise explained, then turned to Harry. "Why can't you leave the school?"

"Finnigan?"

"Queer!"

Previous conversations forgotten, all heads snapped toward the back of the room to a smirking Theo Nott high-fiving one of his snickering disciples. Over half the class laughed along with him, and Seamus grabbed Harry's arm when he saw the raven move to stand in the corner of his eye, silently telling him to let the Professor handle it.

Apparently, he wasn't the only one that saw the ravens intentions; Nott did as well, and trembled in mock-fear with a smirk on his face, provoking him, practically daring Harry to do something about it. A thousand scenarios played out in Harry's mind in that one moment, most of which included him leaping over every desk between them, tackling the skinny homophobe to the ground and seeing what color Nott's blood would appear when splattered over the light green tiled floors. Seeing this in how dark his expression became, Seamus tightened his grip on the ravens tense forearm.

Since Harry had never told Dumbledore the truth about the pills actually belonging Nott, he was let back into the school on the grounds of 'just a big misunderstanding'. Since he had arrived the day before, the boy had been acting unbearably smug, probably thinking he got away it because of who he was, who his family was. Predictively, the single-minded boy did exactly what was expected of him and instead of questioning other possibilities, he now thought he could get away with anything, that he was suddenly above the rules, but maybe it wasn't such a smart idea to make fun of gay people in a class with a gay Professor.

"You were just let back into school, what, yesterday? And already you're starting trouble?" Remus asked incredulously. The boy actually had the gall to look at him as if he hadn't expected to be called out.

"It was just a joke," Nott objected pompously, talking down to his Professor as if the man didn't already know this, disbelieving that he was actually getting in trouble because of one stupid word.

"Then you should work on your stand-up, because I didn't think it was funny," Remus returned, having fully expected the boys objection. "Now, are you going to apologize?"

Pride or punishment?

Nott's eyes narrowed. "What would I be apologizing for?"

Pride.

"Inappropriate name-calling."

Second chance.

"It's not name-calling if it's true," Nott rebutted, casting a distasteful glance at Seamus before looking back at Remus impudently.

"Does that give me the right to call you an asshole?" Harry spoke up, effectively making this a group discussion as everyone else in the room simultaneously found that they, too, had something to say.

"Or a homophobe?" Someone else called out over the collected jumble of statements and questions.

"Or a hypocrite?" Draco just had to add in, smirking when Nott's head snapped in his direction in what looked like a very painful way.

"Everyone, settle down! To the Headmaster's office, Mr Nott. Now," he ordered firmly, not moving an inch until Nott sluggishly made his way to the front of the room. "Oliver, would you mind?" Remus asked, nodding his thanks when the younger man obliged and continued taking attendance.

"Why's he fucking with Seamus now?" Harry asked aloud once they were out of the room.

"Must've heard about the Gay/Straight Alliance," Blaise ventured rationally.

"That's today?" Harry questioned, almost wincing at having completely forgot. He could hardly be blamed for that though, since almost every poster and flyer Seamus had put up around the school had been torn down or defamed with the expected phrases.

Blaise nodded. "After school," he specified.

"Okay, class. You're probably wondering who I am," Oliver cleared his throat when the only reaction he received was vacant stares. It was hard to top a performance like the one they'd just witnessed, that was for sure. "My name's Oliver Wood. I'm a student from the University of San Francisco and I'll be working under Professor Lupin's supervision as your student-teacher to qualify for my degree."

Though no one else seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary about Wood, Draco's brow furrowed the slightest bit. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but Draco was sure he had never seen him before. The man said he was a student in San Francisco, so why was he all the way here in Merlin? Also, Wood didn't seem the teaching type, or at least not like any teacher Draco had ever seen before. Draco's judge of character may be a bit misguided in some cases, but this had nothing to do with character. Ascetically, Wood seemed too well-built, too athletic-looking to be a teacher.

"I'll also be helping out with the after school sports club and in the weight room. Anyone interested can sign up after class," Oliver continued, pinning a clip board on wall next to the door.

"Now, Professor Lupin had a pop quiz ready for you all before he left," he said, smirking a little at the chorus of groans as he picked up the pile of papers and walked to the front desk. The students obediently took one and passed the rest back to the person behind them.

"Pass them back, Blondie," Oliver said once he was at Draco's desk, the last of the test papers held out in front of him in the hand that wasn't trapped in the sling.

_Blondie?_

Draco blinked, recognizing the voice but not remembering where he knew it from. Who had called him Blondie before? Reaching forward to take the papers, he looked down to Wood's hand and raised a brow in surprise when he saw the S&G stamp identical to his own. The stamp he had scrubbed and scrubbed, but refused to wash off. And suddenly Draco knew exactly where he remembered that voice.

"...You're-"

"Yes," Oliver nodded, casting a quick glance around the class to get the message across to Draco that in front of the entire class wasn't the place to be having this conversation.

Class went on as normal and Lupin came back only about twenty minutes after he left. Draco tried not to feel uncomfortable, convincing himself that he had no reason to be, but this guy was supposed to be his new teacher, if only temporarily. What if Wood felt bitter at the blatant rejection Draco had shown him Saturday night? Draco had no idea. The fact that the man was still calling him Blondie must have meant he hadn't taken it personally, but it was perfectly probable the man was just mocking him. The last thing Draco needed was a bitter wannabe-teacher having it out for him.

-

After classes were finished for the day, Harry made it out to the abandoned equipment room. It was isolated far behind the greenhouse and more of a white bricked shed, really, but he supposed it would serve it's purpose. When he had asked Seamus why he chose a spot so far from the school to hold the GSA, he was told that Hagrid had given him permission to do whatever he wanted with it and that everyone would feel more comfortable with the privacy. Harry could understand that, but he thought that outsiders would probably see it as them trying to hide or something. Approaching the building, however, Harry saw the letters 'GSA' painted across the front of the building and all thoughts of hiding completely disappeared.

The door was left opened, inviting any and all to come inside and when Harry did, he was impressed with all that Seamus had done. Since it had been left abandoned for years, Harry knew it had to be fixed up and everything had to have been cleaned out and organized.

An old white board and desks had been moved in and situated in their proper places. Free To Be and Safe Zone posters had been put up all around the room, along with a sensible ground rules poster by the door. The first rule was that nobody could make assumption or labels about a group members sexual orientation and the rest were all about non-violence, respect, and confidentiality. A donation jar for projects, activities, snacks and anything else they would need that the school couldn't provide was set up on a desk in front of the room beside a plate of brownies that Harry was quick to indulge in.

"Hands off, Harry. Those are for everyone," Hermoine called out, not even looking at him as she helped Dean hang up yet another Mission Statement. Harry pouted, but didn't argue, choosing instead to help out Seamus, who was struggling with another poster.

"A Day of Silence poster? Isn't that in April?" Harry asked, holding it up on one side and waving off Seamus's thanks.

"Yeah, but not many people know what it is," Seamus explained.

Harry supposed that was true. GLSEN's Day of Silence is a day where anyone who supports LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender) rights take a vow of silence and carry a card with their reasons for not speaking that day. It's meant to be a protest to recognize the silence they all face symbolically and raise awareness, but Seamus was right, hardly anybody even knew what it was and many of the ones who do know don't participate because a lot of them get into trouble for refusing to speak, no matter their reasons.

"Malfoy? I thought you weren't gonna join?" Seamus questioned when the blond walked in, his expression a mix between pride and confusion.

"I changed my mind," the blonde answered simply, surveying the room.

Actually, Draco's plan pretty much required him to be there. He had to quit the debate team to make time for it, but it was worth it if it managed to catch his fathers attention, and once his attention was captured, Lucius would subsequently find out about Draco joining the Gay/Straight Student Alliance. Plus, he was glad to be rid of the double-dealing hypocrites that was the debate team.

"I wouldn't have pinned you as a philanthropist," Hermoine stated, and Harry smirked in amusement when Draco actually looked offended at what most people would consider a compliment.

"Then we're both surprised. I wouldn't have pinned you as a libelist," Draco backfired, telling her exactly what he thought of that label being applied to him. He wasn't some do-gooder like her, and though he might find Finnigan's club-in-progress a bit interesting, he was there for purely selfish reasons only.

"I don't think she meant that as an insult," Harry informed his blonde roommate after Hermione huffed in disgust and stormed off.

"Oh," Draco blinked, then shrugged uncaringly, taking a seat along with a chuckling Potter in one of the desks.

About ten minutes later, the last person arrived, and Draco could've groan at seeing who it was.

"Where's Professor Lupin?" Dean was the first to inquire upon seeing Oliver Wood.

Harry wanted to know, too. Remus gladly agreed to be their faculty adviser the day before, so he knew the older man must have a good reason for missing it. The first thought in his head was that something might have gone wrong when Sirius went to speak to Peter, but he quickly brushed that thought away. He had no idea when Sirius was planning to see Peter, or even if something would go wrong when he did. Plus, Remus' reasons could be just about anything.

"Something came up, he asked me to stand in for today," Oliver explained, taking a seat closest to the door, incidentally right behind Draco.

The blond tried to distract himself with what was going on around him, but with Potter now in deep discussion with the Weasel about whether or not they were joining Wood's after school program, nothing was distracting enough to ignore the frequent glances aimed at the back of his head by the man sitting behind him.

"You know, about Saturday- It was nothing personal," Draco said, not loud enough for anyone else to overhear and not even risking a look behind him. He supposed it was better to acknowledge the elephant in the room before Wood could.

"Yeah? Well, that's good to know," Oliver stated, then shrugged after a moment. "But the only reason I approached you in the first place was because you were looking so miserable."

Draco took a second to feel insulted before asking, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just what I said. You were moping because your boyfriend went off with some other guy and I thought I'd try to cheer you up. It was nothing personal," Oliver repeated, something not quite a smirk on his face when Draco finally turned to face him.

"Potter is not my boyfriend," Draco scoffed.

Oliver quirked an eyebrow. "Then why were you moping?"

"Because- None of your business!" Draco hissed, then turned back to the front. He had to admit that the man had a point, but that didn't mean he had to like it. He was sure now, that Wood wasn't a threat to his grades or anything else, but he knew the man was going to be one hell of an annoyance.

Seamus figured it was about time to start now that he was sure nobody else was coming. It was a little disappointing that only ten showed up, but since the club was just starting out, he was sure they would get more members gradually.

Clearing his throat, he started off with an introduction, sounding more professional and eloquent then anyone had heard him (aside from Dean, of course) and welcomed everyone to the Hogwarts Academy Gay/Straight Student Alliance. Next was discussing what their purpose was and what events should be planned.

"Don't you think you're getting a little ahead of yourself? A club doesn't consist of ten people," came a critical pointer from the back of the room. Everyone turned their heads in a way that any outside viewer would assume was perfectly choreographed to see a blonde-haired boy that made Draco start upon recognition.

"Who asked you, Zach?" Ginny asked her classmate sarcastically, her dislike obvious.

Harry hardly even heard her. This boy -Zach- had been in the back of his mind for the last day and a half and now he finally knew why he had looked so familiar; they went to the same school. Normally, Harry probably wouldn't go for someone so seemingly arrogant and outspoken, but there was something about this boy that made Harry look twice, something that made him seem incredibly misunderstood.

"He's right," Harry spoke out suddenly, causing Draco to take notice of how intently the ravens gaze was focused on the blue-eyed boy once again.

Seamus blinked when Harry didn't continue. "What?"

"Erm, well, shouldn't we have more members before we start getting into the big stuff? First things first, right?"

"Potter-" Draco tried to intercept, if only for the fact that he didn't like the raven going against his friends to stick up for some snob he'd never spoken a word to in his life, even if the boys argument did have some merit. Also, Smith just looked so damn smug when Potter defended him, but once the raven looked back at him, the two-faced boy quickly changed his expression to grateful.

"No, he's right." Seamus interrupted, surprising the entire room. "Our first priority should be getting new members. After that, we can focus on activities so everyone will know what's going on. Okay, ten minute group discussion starting now. How can we get more members?"

"What about advertising on the school's website?" Neville suggested.

"It's already on the school's website," Hermoine informed.

"Let's just put the posters back up. Whoever's ripping them down will get bored eventually," Ginny tried to reason.

"We all know who's doing it and we all know he wont stop," Ron sighed.

While this brainstorm continued, Draco watched incredulously as Potter took this opportunity to slide three desks toward the back and sat backwards in his seat directly in front of an amused-looking Smith.

"So, are you with the bride or the groom?" Harry asked, a playful smile on his face. Draco fought against rolling his eyes and lost. The raven might as well have asked point blank whether or not Smith was gay, even though he and the raven both knew he was. The GSA's first rule was not to make any assumptions about a persons sexuality, but of course, Potter had to find a way around that rule like every other one.

Zach laughed, a little too earnestly in Draco's opinion. "The bride. What about you?"

"A mutual friend of both, respectively," the raven answered, then held out a hand. "Harry Potter."

"Zacherias Smith," the blond introduced himself with an easy, flirtatious smile, then inclined his head. "Rock star and humanitarian? Impressive."

"Actually, I'm pretty much just here for support. This whole thing was the offspring of Seamus' imagination, I just thought I'd help out," Harry explained, seemingly modest in the way he said nothing about Zach's rock star assumption.

"It's a good idea, but it'll never make a difference with only ten people," the Junior commented.

"We'll get new members," Harry rectified positively.

"Not if the flyers keep getting torn down," Zach argued, honest to the point of being cynical. "Pretty soon, everyone will start seeing this as an outcast club and no one will want to join at the risk teenage ostracism. It's one of the downsides to high school hierarchy; nobody wants to be a pariah, even if it is for a worthy cause."

"That's pretty pessimistic," Harry concluded, trying not to sound too judgemental.

"But it's the truth," Zach returned confidently, and not even Harry could argue with that.

"We can't advertise if the flyers keep getting torn down and nobody looks at the Academy website, so how can we get more members without advertising?" The raven wondered aloud, tapping his fingers rhythmically on Zach's desk. An idea hit him and he grinned. "How do we make the GSA cool?"

"Flyers and websites? So impersonal," Zach tutted, a tiny smirk lifting the corner of his lips. "Why don't you try something a little more... hands on?"

And suddenly, they weren't talking about the GSA anymore if the look in Zach's eyes was any indication. This was what caught Harry's attention in the first place, back at the bar in Sodom and Gomorrah; Zach's gorgeous blue eyes that conveyed everything he wanted to say without having to say a word. It was one of the many things about this boy that Harry found irresistibly attractive.

Harry grinned. "What do you suggest?"

He didn't know when their faces had gotten so close, but he was having trouble trying to keep his gaze from flickering down to Zach's mouth. The Junior wasn't helping at all, and decided to draw even more attention to those pouty lips by flicking his tongue out to moisten them, the light catching the inside of his lip ring in the most tempting way as he did so.

It was an intentional movement, just like every move Zach made since the first time Harry had laid eyes on him was intentional. Body language was Harry's preferred form of communication, and it would seem it was Zach's, also. Words could sometimes be confusing and with someone as complulsive as himself, he couldn't always think before he spoke, but body language wasn't something that could be easily misinterpreted, or at least not for him.

"Ahem," interrupted a voice, and Harry looked up to see Seamus impatiently tapped his foot. "I'm glad to know you take the GSA so seriously as to switch sides of the fence, Harry, but your flirting is kind of disracting me from my facilitating duty."

Harry blinked at the almost comically serious tone the Irishman was using. "Sorry," he pacified, then mock-glared at Zach when the blond let out a poorly disguised chuckle.

By this time, Draco had had enough of watching Potter flirt with the blue-eyed Junior and turned back to hear what Finnigan was saying.

"I'm guessing that's why you were moping?" Oliver said, and it would've been a blatant 'I told you so' if it wasn't for the vast amount of sympathy in his tone. Nevertheless, the blond ignored him.

Hours after the meeting had ended, Draco was lounging comfortably on the sofa inside dorm room sixty-six, finishing his homework alongside his roommates. All roommates but Potter, that is, who he had assumed was off somewhere with Smith. It was a logical assumption, considering he had watched the raven leave with the boy right after the GSA meeting was over.

At first, Draco didn't understand what was going on with Potter. This was the first time he had ever witnessed the raven having any real interest in anyone and he couldn't understand why it was Smith that managed to catch Potter's attention. There had to a hundred people better looking than the blue-eyed Junior that wanted a chance with Potter, but Draco knew that the raven wasn't one to focus on looks alone. Potter wasn't shallow by any means, so there had to be something about Smith that Potter liked that Draco just couldn't see. What was so special about Smith? Nothing. There was no redeeming quality about the boy that could make up for his god-awful attitude.

But maybe that was it. Maybe Potter actually liked Smith's overly-confident, skeptical and annoying demeanor. Draco had no idea why he would, but it was possible. And if that was the case, then Draco was certain Potter would be sick of him in a matter of days. It was a comforting thought, but he tried to ignore the fact that the grip on his pen tightened every time he wondered what they could be doing.

Potter walked into the dorm room at around five o' clock carrying a curiously large, cardboard box. The raven looked positively supercilious, smiling in a smug, devious way that Draco knew meant he had a could-be dangerous idea that he thought was total genius. He dropped the box next to Seamus, who was lying on his stomach on the floor next to the sofa, completely absorbed in his laptop. The Irishman took one peek inside the box, eyes widening as he took in the assorted, multi-colored condoms, and bolted upright.

"What's this?" Seamus asked in wonderment, grabbing a handful and turning to the raven standing behind him.

"Your franchising implement," Harry answered, exceedingly proud of himself. "Tomorrow, we're going to stand out in the halls and pass these out with your flyers," he continued his explanation as he practically swaggered over to his bed, plucking up his guitar before flopping down on it.

Nobody bothered to question where the raven managed to aquire a box full of codoms, knowing that if they did, they would all be forced to lie later when they were asked if Potter had left the school. He certainly didn't buy them, and sex, according to the school board, simply didn't exist at the Academy, so it was needless to say they didn't have a safe-sex program, so that left the health clinic, a pretty obvious guess.

Draco was impressed. It was a widely known fact that sex sells, but it had to take someone pretty inventive to apply that to an after school club. Draco, however, knew the train of thought Potter had to have had to come up with that idea and it was enough to make him gag.

"Could that work?" Dean wondered aloud, astonished.

"It's worth a shot," Blaise considered, thinking it over.

"That boy is sprung," Seamus commented, watching the raven with a dreamy expression before going back to reading all the hottest celebrity gossip on TDP.

Blaise raised a brow. "What do you mean?"

"Don't tell me you didn't notice."

"Notice what?" Ron cut in, staring in befuddlement as Harry started humming.

"That Harry's doing all of this to impress something young, blonde and argumentative," Dean answered, spurring a laugh from Seamus.

Ron's brows furrowed and he looked at Draco in confused assumption, thinking this was who they were talking about. Draco caught the look and gave him a withering glare before going back to his text book.

"You don't think," Ron grimaced when it finally clicked.

"I do think," Seamus corrected.

"Occasionally," Draco felt compelled to add in.

"I saw it, too. The chemistry between those two was almost tangible," Dean commented, prompting Draco to hold back a scoff.

"I'm not gonna be tricked into believing that again. Harry's not into guys," Ron stated confidently.

"A hundred dollars says he is," Draco challenged boredly.

Ron considered it for three seconds before his competitive nature got the best of him. "Twenty."

Draco rolled his eyes skyward in incredulity. "Fifty," he said, playing along for the hell of it.

"Deal," Ron smirked, holding out a hand in Draco's direction to shake on it and dropping it when the blond only snorted in amusement without looking up. "Jerk," the redhead muttered.

A quiet gasp escaped Seamus' mouth, attracting their attention, and Draco's eyebrows shot up in surprise when he saw the boys expression.

"What's the matter?" Dean inquired, a little concerned at how shell-shocked his boyfriend seemed.

Seamus took the hand from his mouth and pointed toward his computer screen. "Look..."

There was a flurry of movement as everyone moved closer, and their reactions weren't very far from Seamus' when they saw what the Irishman had. Even Draco was a little worried, knowing the website the boy was prone to visit daily.

"Holy shit," Ron breathed, leaning closer to read the article.

Draco felt nauseating dread pool in the pit of his stomach as he read the headline.

_'Boyfriend Identified: Malfoy Dating Murder Suspect?'_

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**Authors Note: **Ooh. Evil cliffy. *cackles madly*

Condoms idea was copped from QAF. Also, I do know Zacharias Smith's eyes are actually brown, in case anyone wants to point that out.

Reviews are cherished! Tell me what you love, tell me what you hate, but for heavens sake, keep it critical.


	16. Tactics

**Rating:** Mature.

**Warning: **Slash. OOC-ness. Profanity. Drug use.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters mentioned in the series. Nor any of the songs mentioned in this chapter.

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**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Tactics**

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Draco had learned from years of experience in spreading rumors that you can only ever believe about half of what you hear, if that, but as he sat back on his heels, going over everything in his head, he was still completely unable to make any sense of it.

He didn't do it, was Draco's immediate, and okay, somewhat mulish thought. Though, applying the situation to Potter's refusal to speak of his past would signify a possibility of the article being factual, Draco couldn't quite bring himself to seriously question it. Maybe it was out of some skewed sense of loyalty, but he just wasn't capable of being objective about the raven. Unexpected loyalty or not, the only thing he knew for certain was that Potter wasn't capable of doing something like this. He didn't have it in him to be that person.

Something happened, he was positive, but he couldn't be sure of any details and he wasn't taking the Profit's word for it. Call it being biased, but Draco was hesitant to say the least when it came to believing anything the Daily Profit had to say. Call it having common sense.

In a nutshell, the article said everything Draco expected it to and a hell of a lot more.

First came the introduction, dramatized to a degree that would've better suited the newest Pope instead of a highschooler. The headline itself was in bold, capital letters, followed by a severely overblown announcement that Draco Malfoy's "enigmatic lover" had finally been named.

_'HARRY POTTER.  
_

_We all know this young man has been filling up the headlines_

_lately, but what we didn't know, what will be exclusively_

_revealed to you here at the Daily Profit, is that this isn't the_

_first time Harry Potter has made the headlines.  
_

_It all started when the Daily Profit's very own Rita Skeeter took_

_a personal interest in the youngest Malfoy's tantalizing,_

_in-the-making, star-crossed love story, like so many of us have.  
_

_We're sure you all remember the various work Skeeter has done_

_involving Mr and Mrs Malfoy and the tantalizing drama they've_

_been known to circulate, but this time around, Rita Skeeter has_

_decided to focus all of her attention on the youngest member_

_of the Malfoy family, take this story under her wing and give all_

_of our lovely readers out there the heads-up of what exactly is_

_going on in the lives of these two young lovers, this unraveling_

_love story.  
_

_Like all good reporters, Rita Skeeter started with highly in-depth_

_research and, after many hours of tireless digging, managed to_

_find several newspaper articles containing Potter's unfortunate_

_and shady past.  
_

_The first of these newspaper clippings were the obituaries of his_

_late parents, Lily and James Potter.'_

Finding out this way -from a slanderous website- about Potter's past, regardless the fact that it most likely wouldn't have been revealed otherwise, felt like intruding on something sacred. Which, knowing how much Potter revered the memory of his parents, it probably was.

Not that the raven often spoke of them. No, if anything, Potter behaved as though he'd rather jump off a bridge than talk about anything substantially deep or overly emotional, much less about his parents. The occupants of dorm room number sixty-six all knew the basics about what happened to them, of course, but that was it. "They died when I was really little," was all that Potter had to say about the death of his parents. Up until now, the how was a complete mystery, something the raven seemed to have in spades.

Other than the sparse details Potter occasionally supplied, how he felt about his parents was only apparent when others were talking about their own. Whenever one of their roommates started bitching about their parents (as teenagers were wont to do), Potter would get this intrigued, child-like look on his face that made him seem like he was learning something new, something he didn't know that everyone else did about what it meant to have a mom and dad. You'd have to be paying attention to his eyes or you'd surely miss it, but for a split second, he'd look so heart-breakingly sad Draco knew for certain that in that one moment, Potter was dreaming about his own parents and what his life would be -who _he_ would be- if he had never lost them. It was times like that when, against his will and common sense, Draco's heart would go out to him.

That, along with many other things he didn't quite understand, were the prime reasons why reading this (intriguing, captivating, fascinating) filth made him to feel so guilty. As to why, Draco hadn't a clue. He'd already betrayed Potter's trust several times over by now, hadn't he? He was sure this one more indiscretion couldn't make much difference.

His sorry attempts at defending his actions didn't make him feel any less guilty.

Regardless, the information he now had of the Potter family made him wonder. The list of things he didn't know about Potter was building with each paragraph he read of the damned article. Some of these things definitely warranted secret-status, to be sure, but a lot of them were things that Potter really had no reason to hide, but apparently had anyway.

The first was a prime example of the later; the fact that Potter had money.

Now keep in mind that when a Malfoy uses the term 'money', it can only be translated to something along the lines of 'a large fortune of considerable value'. This was the kind of money that was almost (but not quite) on par with the fortune that Draco was heir to inherent. Without a doubt, if Potter wanted to, he wouldn't have to work a day in his life.

Draco himself wasn't even that lucky. He was expected to become someone notable and of high standing, be his father's idea of what a respectable man was and add to the fortune before passing it down to his own offspring. In short, Draco was to become something he didn't want to be, get even richer and give all of his assets to some _brat_ conceived with some _female_ before kicking the bucket. The whole thing was very disheartening.

This had to be one of Potter's best kept secrets, to be sure. The raven certainly didn't act like money was on his list of things to give a shit about.

Draco had a new wardrobe for every season, made perfectly sure his appearance was always camera-worthy, maxed out three (three!) of his parents credit cards in his second year at Hogwarts Academy buying mostly useless (but very shiny) things in order to impress his schoolmates. He bought things he didn't need on a daily basis on no more than a whim, sometimes for no other reason besides that he could.

Being an only child born into a very wealthy family, he was indulged and cherished accordingly. It'd been that way for as long as he could remember. Why, he could even recall the time his mother brought him to buy his first violin and, on their way out of the store, heard a nasally-sounding girl about his age whining to her father that she didn't want to play the piano, that she wanted a clarinet. When the little girl's father resolutely refused and the girl started stomping her feet and crying most obnoxiously, Draco had his mother buy him a clarinet right then and there. Young as he was then, Draco still remembered smirking at her and, despite the fact that he didn't know how to play it, blew a note threw the wreathe on his way out the store.

Draco couldn't recall what had happened to the instrument after its purpose was fulfilled, but he suspected it was among his maximum-strength super-hold hairspray (a fashion-don't that he thought made him look less girly, gave him helmet-hair and his mother won't ever let him live down), boy-band phase memorabilia and genuine red and blue fox fur coats back from when he had something against PETA. Wherever they happened to be.

On the other hand, however, Potter was a pack-rat. Half the raven's clothes were too big for him, some old and ratty looking, full of tiny holes and tears, others intact but so worn they felt like cashmere. In a suitcase underneath the raven's bed were 'vintage' T-shirts featuring rock bands Draco never heard of that Potter just couldn't bear to part with but were falling apart at the seams. The bottom drawer of his dresser was reserved for clothes he'd had since the raven was in his younger teens that he never got around to disposing of, some small enough to fit someone almost half Potter's size (that red and white shirt Potter forced him into the first time they went out together being one of them).

It goes without saying that money and material objects as a whole meant next to nothing to the raven. Draco had learned in the months they'd spent living together that Potter only ever bought what he liked and needed. He paid no mind to brand names, price tags or anything else that normal people used to make purchasing decisions. The boy hated shopping (something Draco wasn't ever able to fully understand), treated putting together outfits like a first-in-sight affair and bought Hanes wifebeaters by the pack. The raven owned only one pair of sunglasses, which would've definitely been forgivable if Potter hadn't actually asked "What's Dior?" when Draco noted aloud in surprise who they were by. Potter's new helmet (that he only bought because the old one got run over by a semi when he forgot to strap it correctly to his head) cost three hundred dollars, but he could've got one that looked exactly like it at less than half that price if he didn't go with the first one he saw in his size, proving just how much Potter disliked shopping.

This was the question: why would he want to keep the fact that he had money a secret?

Another fact Draco didn't know about was that Potter was born in Merlin, or so the article stated, and even more surprising, lived in Godric's Hollow (a cliff-side-view gated community in Merlin with highly selective residents that Draco knew for a fact his own parents looked into before deciding on the Manor almost twenty years ago) before his parents passed.

Which led to Potter's next secret.

The passing of Lily and James Potter wasn't what the raven made it out to be, but Draco supposed when someone only entitles the death of a couple "an accident", everyone automatically assumes the generic car crash. There's no way anyone could've guessed it was a possible arson, which was what it actually was. An explosion that no one but the police believed had to have started in the basement, rocked the entire foundation, burned the first floor to ash in a matter of minutes and had the second come crashing down in even less time. Once the flames climbed the stairs, it's said that Lily and James could've made it had they climbed out from their balcony, but that exit was destroyed once they got to their baby in the nursery. After that, the family was pretty much barricaded in that one room with that one exit that only one of them could fit out of.

Thinking about the events that had to have followed made Draco cringe.

How an infant survived being thrown out a burning two story nursery window and come out of it with just one scar was a mystery to everyone, it seemed, because Harry Potter was front page news before the age of five. "The Boy Who Lived" was what the local news reporters called him, and suddenly, Draco remembered exactly why the name Potter sounded so familiar. It was everywhere when he was a child, people talked about what a shame it was, what a miracle it was that baby Potter lived, survived such a tragedy. Draco thought he could recall his mother saying something about what kind of strength it had to have taken to throw your baby from a burning house without the knowledge if he'd survive or not.

It was the kind of thing that made people believe in God. Harry Potter was a media darling, a living miracle, a medical marvel, an icon of love and sacrifice.

The last and most shocking secret was the most unbelievable.

_'Contrary to how little injuries Potter sustained from that terrible_

_ordeal, a boy that has been through so much couldn't have_

_made it out unscathed. How much everything has affected him_

_is astonishing.  
_

_Potter's friendship with one Cedric Diggory lasted years. The two_

_boys met in highschool and got themselves in and out of minor_

_trouble together up until the very end.  
_

_Diggory was pronounced dead at the scene of a seedy motel_

_room only a little over a year ago. The autopsy report was_

_unavailable.  
_

_Police at first thought it was just an unfortunate teenage_

_overdose, but that changed a week or so after the fact when_

_evidence suggested it wasn't an accidental death as everyone_

_had firstly assumed.  
_

_Potter was released from questioning when all searches for_

_evidence came up empty-handed.  
_

_It was rumored that Diggory was one of Potter's many ex-lovers,_

_even from such an early age. Whether this was a crime of_

_passion or even a crime at all remains to be seen, but we do _

_feel obligated to warn our readers. This handsome bad boy may_

_be a potential danger to all those around him.'_

The rest of the article basically consisted of rhetorical questions concerning whether or not Draco and his parents were aware of this and ridiculous judgement based on nothing.

By the time everyone (sans Potter) had finished reading, mouths agape, nobody could summon the energy required to be anything but silent, which was something of a surprise to Draco. He figured they would all have something -anything- to say, especially Weasley, Potter's self-appointed 'best friend'. Nobody said a word, however, and after awhile, the unusual silence eventually took Potter's eyes from his guitar to look at his roommates, who were all staring blankly at each other and wondering what to do.

Harry raised a brow when all noise ceased completely and turned to see what was going on, knowing that something had to be. Total silence wasn't a common occurence in dorm room number sixty-six, so he felt his reaction was justifiable. Once his roommates felt his eyes on them, they were all quick to return his stare. Harry blinked at their strange expressions and put down his guitar as the admittedly eerie silence stretched on. With no small amount of discomfort, Harry managed a quiet, "What?"

That seemed to break to spell, it seemed, because Ron immediately glared at nothing and shouted, "This is bullshit!"

Harry's brows furrowed in confusion and he pulled himself up off his bed. "What's-"

All heads snapped toward the door when series of knocks interrupted Harry's question, sounding much louder than it really should have. Seeing no one move to answer it, Harry made his way over, giving his roommates a weird look before opening the door. Unexpectedly, McGonnagal stood on the other side, lips pursed and foot tapping somewhat impatiently.

"Professor," Harry said upon seeing her. Quickly, he checked his watch. "Is it six already?"

Apparently, after seeing his spilt lip and raw knuckles, dealing with the situation with Nott, and everything else that's happened, Dumbledore thought he needed professional help. A specialist was being brought in to speak with him this lovely evening, and, oh, didn't he feel special.

He didn't necessarily feel the need to inform his roommates or anyone else who didn't already know about it. Harry doubted it, but if Draco already knew via greasy godfathers/chemistry professors, then he didn't make a point of announcing it. Harry was thankful if that was the case. The handful of people that already knew was embarrassing enough as it was.

Out of concern or persuasion, Sirius had apparently agreed to it, never mind the fact that, as Harry had previously told the Headmaster, he did not need counseling. Counseling is what they called it, never what it really was: Anger management. He wouldn't respond to that, there was no way. There were certain things he couldn't talk about with anybody, not even with his impromptu family, so what made them think he would open up to a complete stranger? He wouldn't, they would soon come to find, and Harry would just have to live with it until they did.

Six o' clock would be his first appointment with Dr Lestrange.

"No, Mr Potter," McGonnagal answered, "but you're godfather left a message to have you contact him as soon as possible."

Harry nodded, quickly gathering his things. Behind him, his roommates watched silently, all wondering what happened at six o' clock.

"I would've informed you sooner," she continued, then gave him a pointed look as he once again approached the door, "had anyone known where you were."

"Oh, erm," Harry fumbled for an excuse. If McGonnagal had a bit less self-control, he thought she would've rolled her eyes at him then.

"Come along, Mr Potter," she said without waiting for his inevitable untruth and left down the hallway, confident he'd follow.

On his way out the door, Harry turned back to his roommates, completely forgetting their previous strange behavior. "See you guys at dinner," he said before closing the door behind him and left in a hurry, anxious to hear what his godfather had to say.

With the ravens departure, the dorm room was again left in silence. A small sence of relief hung heavily in the air, then after a moment, everyone started talking at once.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Ron asked Seamus accusingly, passing the buck, so to speak.

"Me?! Why didn't you?"

"We need to go talk to him before someone else does," Dean interjected, always the most level-headed out of the group.

"That's probably what his godfather wanted to talk to him about," Blaise surmised.

Blocking out his roommates voices to the best of his ability, Draco thought quickly. He had no idea what to do. Finding a way to buy himself some time, he let out a fake, disbelieving laugh, priding himself over the fact that he didn't need to raise his voice to be heard. He scoffed in disgust when he had their attention. "And you all call yourselves Potter friends."

"We _are_ his friends!" Dean objected, loyal as Draco expected.

"Which is more than we can say about you," Ron added, his hostility more out of reflex than anything now.

Draco gave them all a skeptical look. "Then why are you all behaving as though you think Potter's some big bad killer?"

"We're not! Harry couldn't have done that," Seamus stated. Against his will, he was unable to sound as certain as he would've liked. He instead sounded hopeful. They all knew the article had to have some merit, yet a possible misunderstanding had to have been at work when Harry was under suspicion. There had to be.

"Then why do you want to ask him about it?" Draco questioned. "Bringing it to Potter will only make it worse."

"He needs to know," Dean said firmly, distaste coloring his tone at what he thought Draco was suggesting. "He _deserves_ to know."

"Why?"

"Because!"

"Whatever," Draco snorted. "The only reason you want to talk to him about it is so he can quell your uncertainties. If you were any kind of friends as you claim to be, you'd protect him and make sure he doesn't find out," he informed, expertly blurring the lines between right and wrong.

Not noticing the calculating look Blaise was sending his way, he stood up and shrugged, going back to his studies as his roommates absorbed what he said like a sponge.

"Considering the hero-complex, I would think he'd do the same for any of you," the blond continued indifferently after a moment of pondering silence, delivering the killing blow, so to speak.

Contrary to Draco's cruel words, his disception wasn't entirely selfish. Hurting Potter wasn't something he wanted to do. He didn't want Potter to be effected by his plan in any way. But he knew this would happen. He didn't think it would entail such complications, especially not so early on, but he knew the name Harry Potter would become public eventually.

When everyone hears about this latest piece of gossip, the rumors will run rampant and the fault will be completely Draco's if it causes the raven any trouble. Which was inevitable if only because the situation had the possibility of becoming huge. Parents don't want their children going to school with a suspected killer and said children will become wary of him, if not a little curious considering who it is.

The only reason the media was interested in Potter now was because of Draco's plan to put them both on display, his insistence in getting his fathers attention. He didn't want to take the chance of Potter connecting the dots. Dots which led directly to him.

Trust was a big part of his plan. If Potter trusted him, he'd be less inclined to suspect Draco of any wrongdoings. This would be pretty simple considering the faith Potter had in his friends. Until he figured out what to do about the rumors, keeping Potter on friendly terms and in the dark was the only way to ensure the raven didn't find out about Draco's betrayal.

Betrayal... That was exactly what he was doing, using Potter the way he was. He felt guilty enough as it was. He didn't need Potter finding out about this newest development, and if misleading his roommates was the only way to achieve that, then so be it.

Even though Potter didn't seem to pay much attention to rumors, he'd find out about this eventually, Draco had no delusions about that. But ignorance is bliss, isn't it? Potter didn't have to know now. Plus, Draco needed time to think this through, figure out how to work this in his favor.

Abjectly resigned but unwilling to admit it, Ron sank back into the couch, arms crossed sulkily. "Pssh, what do you know?"

As Draco could have predicted, Seamus was the first to go against the majority, proving that too much open-mindedness can sometimes be a bad thing. He cleared his throat. "I'd hate to say it... but that kind of makes sense."

"What!" Ron barked, childishly angry at the thought of Seamus taking Draco's side.

"Well, it does!" the Irishman shot back defensively, not quite as dubious as before. "How long can a rumor last here anyway, before it gets old and no one cares anymore? Harry's not likely to find out if no one tells him flat out."

It was harsh but true. Unless it's said directly in front of him with his full attention, Potter would remain clueless.

"You have a TDP prescription, don't you?" Blaise asked, unwilling to offer anything to the proceedings, but curious nevertheless.

"Of course," Seamus answered somewhat proudly. After reading that first article, he made sure he would be one of the first to know if anything new about the Marauders, Draco, and many other subjects of interest became available. It was unlikely that a lot of people knew about this already, seeing as it was only just released to the public. "But I'm not the only one."

"This doesn't feel right," Dean sighed, knowing that keeping Harry in the dark about this would have consequences they weren't prepared for.

"Dean," Seamus sighed, shaking his head as if Dean was being silly. "If we bring this to Harry, it'll only upset him. Remember the other day when Lavander was wearing that really low-cut top and asked me if I thought it was too revealing?" Dean nodded, recalling the incident. "Well, she wouldn't have cried if I didn't tell her she looked like a stripper."

Draco rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything. The girl's latest boyfriend had just broken up with her (but not before calling her a teasing slut), of course she was going to cry. It was true, of course, the girl did look like slut, but for such a feminine gay guy, Finnigan was incredibly insensitive.

"I don't think that's the same thing," Ron pointed out.

"Sure it is," Seamus argued. "Draco was right, he would've done the same for us."

Practically handing the task of persuasion to Finnigan on a silver platter, Draco let him take over and had to restrain himself from shaking his head in disappointment. His roommates were so easily manipulated. Sure, it worked in his favor, but it made it easy to understand why Potter was the unofficial leader of the group. The raven's morals weren't nearly as flexible.

--

Harry leaned a hip against McGonnagal's desk after dialing his godfather's cell number, smiling when he heard the Pink Panther theme song. He wasn't happy about his godfather agreeing to put him in 'counseling', but he knew Sirius had to have had good intentions behind it. Not the type to hold a grudge, Harry couldn't very well hold it against him.

Harry didn't even blink when Remus answered instead of his godfather.

_"Hello?"_

"Hey, Rem, it's me."

_"Hi, Harry, hold on a second,"_ There was a moment that Harry could hear what sounded like a car horn and heavy traffic. Then Remus spoke to someone that wasn't him. _"Sirius, it's Harry," _he said, and Harry could hear the phone being exchanged to his godfather.

_"Hey, kiddo. What's up?"_

"They put me in anger management," Harry stated, deadpan. He imagined could hear Sirius winced through the phone at his wording.

_"I know,"_ his godfather said, trying to sound excited about it, like it was a good thing, but failing miserably.

"And you agreed to it?"

_"Well..."_

"Sirius, you know it won't do any good," Harry sighed, flicking the bangs out of his face.

_"It might. Give it a chance, Harry. That's all I'm asking."_

Harry knew before calling that he wouldn't be able to get out of it, so he wasn't disappointed. Resigned, mostly. Giving therapy a chance, though, wasn't something he was willing to do. He didn't have problems that could be solved just by talking through them. He didn't know this through trial and failure (because he'd never talked about them, ever, not with anyone), but he knew himself well enough to know that just talking about it wouldn't help.

Closure, though, that was a different story altogether.

"Where are you?" he asked, dropping the previous discussion and letting Sirius know that he wasn't promising anything.

_"Uh, that's why I called earlier,"_ Sirius told him, hesitating. _"I went to see Peter today."_

"And?" Harry prompted when he didn't continue.

_"And... he wasn't at the hospital."_ Harry's brow furrowed.

"He was discharged already?" he asked, knowing that wasn't the case, but hoping it was.

_"No,"_ his godfather answered, sounding aggravated. _"I was listed as a contact number at the hospital. They called my cell earlier when I dropped by the school, told me he disappeared."_

"You were at Hogwarts? Why?"

_"The Gay/Straight Alliance,"_ Sirius said, an unspoken 'duh' tacked to the end of his answer. He continued, sounding enthused now that they were off the subject of Peter. _"I wanted to sit in, see how it went, maybe even be a guest speaker or something."_

"A guest speaker?" Harry parroted with equal parts amusement and disbelief. He heard Remus bark a laugh in the background.

_"I'll have you know,"_ the older man drawled, acquiring the snobbish voice he used whenever he was impersonating his mother. _"I've done a lot for the gay community."_

Harry gave the phone an highly incredulous look, despite the fact he knew Sirius couldn't see it. He laughed. "Being a part of it doesn't count, Sirius."

_"Anyway," _Sirius sang, which was about the equivalent of a kid sticking his fingers in his ears shouting 'La la la, I can't hear you'. _"They called as soon as I made it into Remmy's classroom and he just insisted coming along."_

"I bet," Harry said doubtfully, knowing it was more likely that Sirius begged him to go.

_"Aw, I didn't know you wanted us there that much, Harry,"_ Sirius cooed. _"It's okay, buddy. We'll be there next time, you can count on it. Come rain or shine, hell or high water..."_

Harry smiled and shook his head as his godfather continued babbling, but he knew it was true. He could recall countless times his godfather came through for him in a moments notice and bailed him out of one bad situation or another. Sirius and Remus, both. In a world were most wouldn't give a shit whether you live or die, it was nice to have people who care that much.

They talked for a short while after that before six o'clock came around and Harry regretably said he had to go, promising to call back when he could. Not knowing where his meeting with Dr Lestrange would be held, he had to ask McGonnagal for directions.

Located in a rarely used hall on the third floor of the main building, Harry thought spiderwebs and tumbleweeds wouldn't seem too out of place in this particular part of the Academy. It was creepy, but mostly because one of the lights were flickering on and off with a static-like sound in a scary-movie-of-the-week fashion.

Warily knocking on what had to be Dr Lestrange's door, he wondered if it was an omen.

After a minute or two passed and no one answered, Harry knocked again. When the same thing happened, he checked his watch, wondering if he was somehow early or misinformed.

"You're a lot less sure of yourself than you appear."

Harry jumped, turning around so fast his back hit the door. He let out a breath when he saw who had spoken, presuming it was Dr Lestrange. When he got a better look at her, though, he swallowed nervously.

The woman was tall, with long black hair pulled high up into a tight ponytail, wispy bangs going to one side of her forehead. She was wearing an excessive amount of black jewelery and a heavy-looking Gothic cross hung from her neck. The woman was covered in all black or dark purple, rough and silky materials that looked better suited for a corset. Not including her hands, the only skin showing was from her cleavage up. Her manicured nails were fake, slightly too long and blood red. She would've been somewhat beautiful if she didn't look like a figure in a wax museum. Harry had a feeling her bank account put out enough money to buy her plastic surgeon a nice new house. She was the scariest looking woman Harry had ever seen, bar none, mostly because of her expression and surroundings.

How she was looking at him now was severely calculating, making Harry very uncomfortable. Her thin red lips were pursed and her dark, heavy-lidded eyes were shadowed purple and scrutinizing him as if he was a strange specimen under a microscope. Her nails tapped against the binders and manila folders she was holding as she continued her careful observance. Harry had to think her something of a snob at the way she was looking down her nose at him with her ramrod posture. The fact that Harry was taller than her by several inches made it a bit ridiculous.

Finally, he registered what she said, and had to keep himself from frowning. How does checking his watch make him insecure?

"And a great deal more wary," she continued, referring to the way he jumped back as if in defense. It was a fair judgment based on his reaction, but Harry had a feeling her observations would only grow more annoying as this meeting continued.

"You surprised me," he said, as if in excuse. She raised a brow and Harry spoke up again before she could say anything, straining to relax his stance. "Dr Lestrange, right?" he said, as if he wasn't sure that was her name or not. He knew it was, of course, but he wanted to get this meeting started with already.

Taking the hint, she nodded curtly and walked forward to unlock the door. "Bellatrix Lestrange," she said. "If it makes you more comfortable, you may call me Bella."

Harry felt like this was another judgement, like maybe because his shirt was untucked, maybe because his uniform jacket, sweater vest and tie was discarded meant that he was as relaxed and familiar as his appearance made him seem. It was annoying because it was true; he wasn't a formal person. If he was anything, though, it was polite, and he wouldn't refuse such an invitation.

"Bella, then," he said, thinking she expected it. To be honest, being on first name basis with this woman didn't make him feel more comfortable, quite the opposite, in fact. It did, however, allow him see her as something other than a doctor here to evaluate him only because it was her job. Maybe she picked up on that somehow.

Once inside, she motioned him to sit across from her. The room was sparsely decorated and very impersonal, nothing eye-catching could possibly distract him here, which Harry found somewhat disappointing. Bella's desk was devoid of personal belongings or photographs that Harry would've expected from any other person with her occupation. It was probably a default office, Harry figured, taking a seat on the cushiony chair in front of her bulky mahogany desk.

"Before we get started," Bella said once she sat down, opening the folder and flipping through some papers. "How about we get to know each other a little. You'll ask me a question, I'll ask you a question. How does that sound?"

"Sure," Harry agreed after a slight pause, inwardly questioning her tactics. "Um, are you married?"

"Widowed and engaged," she answered quickly, flashing an impressive engagement ring with a flick of her wrist. She didn't give him a chance to say he was sorry. "How many years have you been here at Hogwarts, Harry?" she asked, the question seeming sudden without any preamble.

Harry blinked at the question, thinking she should already know the answer. But maybe this was more for his benefit then hers, to establish trust.

"Before this year I went to public school," he said, then suddenly thought he understood why Bella didn't respond to his question with more detail. He figured she wanted to let him know he didn't need to share more than he was comfortable with.

"Public school," Bella repeated with some distaste, making Harry smile slightly at what he considered a Draco-sentiment.

"It wasn't that bad," he assured her. "Do you have any kids?"

"No," she said promptly, still reading through the contents of the first manila folder. "I have no use for children."

Harry brow creased at that. He wasn't aware children were supposed to be particularly useful, not that he had much experience with children to know. "But you work with them."

Bella looked at him for the first time since entering the room and arched a brow. "Are you a child?"

"Point taken," Harry said, nodding. He still didn't understand her answer, though. He scrounged his brain for another useless question. "Do you live in Merlin?"

Bella glanced up at him again, this time looking a little peeved. "That's two questions."

"No, it's not. You asked if I was a child," he smiled, being purposely difficult but mostly just kidding.

"But you didn't answer," she pointed out, her face strangely serious.

Harry had to wonder if she was trying to imply that he was a child. Before he could say anything, though, she snapped the folder closed and interlaced her finger on top of the pile, all of her attention focused on Harry now.

"What do your parents do?"

Again, Harry thought she should already know this, especially since it's about his parents.

"Uh, my parents died when I was really young," he answered, seemingly indifferent and not providing any more detail. He opened his mouth to ask another question but she interrupted before he could say anything.

"I think that's enough Q&A, don't you?" she said, apparently too interested in the previous subject to just dismiss it. Harry had the nerve to call her a cheater. "Why don't you tell me a little about how you grew up?"

Harry figured this was where the annoyance started. He knew, now, that the whole 'getting to know each other' bit was just standard proceedure. A routine to get his defences down before pulling the rug from under him. Harry was a little pissed that it worked.

"There's not much to tell. I lived with some relatives," he answered, shrugging. He was being purposefully vague, but not so much to hint at a want to avoid the subject. She noticed anyway.

"Relatives, you say?" Bella prompted. "Surely you must have something to say about them..." she trailed off, then spoke again when Harry didn't pick up the slack, inclining her head in what would've been sympathy if it wasn't so obviously fake. Most peoples eyes would soften, her's didn't. "Or would you rather pretend they don't exist, I wonder?"

The question sounded rhetorical, like she was asking herself. In fact, every time she spoke any judgements or bold observations, it sounded like she was thinking out loud more than anything. Always in a sugary sweet tone, too, like she was talking down to him. Like he was a child.

Though the statement was completely true, Harry didn't feel obliged to answer her. His eyes narrowed slightly at the woman. Doctor Bella was way too pushy for a therapist, he thought.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked with a nonchalant shrug, trying to look bored. "They were assholes."

And he used to be such a nice person.

"Mmhm," she hummed, lips pursed in what Harry assumed was irritation. She obviously had a problem with profanity. Crossing her arms on her desk, Bella decided to pull out the big guns, her pen tapping against her lips. "Tell me, Harry, do you blame your parents for your upbringing?"

Momentarily stunned, Harry stayed silent for several seconds, looking straight into Bella's wide, dark eyes with building, silent rage. He wanted to ask what she thought she knew about his upbringing, but didn't. Bella, for her part, looked delighted at his reaction, which only served to make him more angry. He narrowed his eyes at the presumptuous spider of a woman.

"No," he answered finally, through his teeth. His own voice surprised him when it came out as animalistic as it did, not quite a growl, not quite a hiss. He broke eye contact and tried to calm down a little. Count backwards from ten, Remus once told him. He made it to three. "That's what you think?"

Bella seemed to consider it. "I think your abandonment issues cause you to distance yourself from people."

He made it to seven.

"Since when do I have abandonment issues?"

Bella changed the subject. "Are your parents the only ones that have left you?"

Harry didn't answer, trying to get passed nine in his head.

Bella seemed to realize she wouldn't be getting any more answers on this topic, because after a long silence, she changed the subject again to something a little less threatening.

"Tell me, Harry," she said, practically cooing Harry's name. "Do you think the way people dress reflects their personality?"

Calmer now, Harry gave up trying to keep up with her tactics. His jaw muscles relaxed, his eyes lost their heat. Resigned, he sank back into the chair, his head resting on the back so he stared straight up at the ceiling. Again, he shrugged. "Sometimes, sure."

From the corner of his eye, he could see her scrutinizing him with something like disapproval.

"What would that say about you, I wonder?"

"I dunno," he said, sounding upbeat and mockingly interested. "What does it say, doc?"

"Are you asking my opinion?" Bella asked, as if she needed permission, then continued when Harry nodded to the popcorn ceiling with fake enthusiasm. "It says you're sloppy, rude, careless, and arrogant."

"Wow, and you've only seen me in my uniform," Harry replied dispassionately at her matter of fact tone. Her assumption was somewhat expected. Mostly incorrect, but no less insulting. Barely lifting his head, he looked back across the desk at Bella, a brow raised. "I am comfortable, though. Which is probably more than you can say."

Bella's left eye twitched once, twice. "Do tell."

"Are you asking my opinion?" Harry mocked. Good intentions or not, this wasn't worth suffering through, not even for Sirius's sake. "Well, if appearences reflect personality, I guess I'm going to have to start calling you Elvira, huh."

It was a cheap shot, he knew, but god, was it worth it.

A muscle tensed on Bella's jaw, the eye twitch coming back strong. Harry noticed how prominent the tendons in her neck became and felt a surge of respect for her then, if only because she had enough self restraint to keep from clawing his eyes out their sockets, which was what she looked seconds away from doing. After a moment, though, Bella did something that perplexed Harry deeply. With a deep breath, she took one long look at her engagement ring and seemed to relax, her expression going back to impassive.

Harry watched the long hand on his watch move at a snails pace from four to twelve as the meeting continued. It was torture. Miss Doctor Bellatrix Lestrange could put an interrogation team to shame, that was for sure. For every harsh observation or intrusive question, Harry couldn't help it; he retaliated. He wasn't as good at it as she was, but he hurled every veiled insult back at her, never quite managing to make it all the way to one counting backwards from ten. He became aware that he wasn't the only one in the room with an anger problem. He had a feeling the woman was just trying to get him to snap, and at the pace they were going, it was only a matter of time before one of them does so.

Bellatrix left no stone unturned and bounced quickly from topic to topic with the ease of someone who got paid to do it for a living. She went from analyzing Harry's relationship with his godfather to asking about his school work in no time flat, changing the subject on the turn of a dime.

"I hear you've been having anger issues," she said, her nails tapping obnoxiously on the face of her desk, which told Harry that she was less held together than she wanted to show. Unlike Harry, who'd had quite enough of this tedious encounter, Bella looked like she could go on with this forever and would do so even if it cost her the remaining pieces of her sanity. "A lot of teenagers your age are struggling with the same problem, trust me. I'd like to help you with it, Harry, but you're going to have to cooperate and talk to me." She gave him a faux-curious look. "Are you angry, Harry?"

Harry's mind was racing, as it had been for the last thirty or so minutes. Every invading question she had asked that Harry failed to answer was swarming around in his head, repeating themselves over and over in Bella's sugarcoated voice, threatening to split his skull open and begging to be answered. Yes, he thought. _Yes_! He wanted to scream it in her face, shake her, make her truly understand that, yes, he was _angry_, and yes, he had _issues_. So what? No, he didn't want to talk about it, and hell no, she couldn't help him. Who could?

Instead, he rolled his head in her direction and looked at her blankly. "No."

Bellatrix sighed in something like disappointment, then jotted something down in her notes. "You obviously have trouble communicating," she diagnosed. Again, she didn't sound like she was addressing him specifically.

'Only with people determined to piss me off', Harry felt like saying, but didn't. Not responding, he stood up and stretched his arms over his head, making his way to the door. Bella watched him, her head cocked curiously to one side in a way that made Harry think of a Velociraptor.

"It's seven," he told her, motioning to the clock on the wall behind him. Her eyes followed his hand to the clock and she sighed again.

"I know what you're doing, Harry, and let me tell you, it isn't going to work." She inclined her head, a determined look pinching her face. "We'll continue this as long as we have to until we've made sufficient enough progress, the whole year if necessary." She gave him something that looked like a smile but wasn't. "Same time next week. I look forward to seeing you again."

If Harry hadn't seen her lips moving, he would've thought her voice came from an automated recording, like how the computer check-outs at grocery stores are programed to sound generally nice. Harry was willing to bet anything that all of Bella's past patients had been subject to that very same fair well. It was that fake.

He left without saying anything.

Bellatrix waited several moments after the boy had left before picking up the phone with the intention of reporting her admittedly trivial findings, a frown marring her features as she dialed the 'emergency only' work number of her true employer.

How she hated not getting her way.

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**Authors Note:** Guess who's back? I'm incredibly sorry for leaving you guys hanging off the cliff for so long. I actually have a reasonable explanation, but it's far too complex and complicated to get into here. There aren't enough hours in a day, I can tell you that much.

This chapter was actually going to be a hell of a lot longer, not that it isn't already, but in the end I just decided to make it into another chapter. Plus, you guys have been waiting long enough.

I know you're getting antsy for some Harry/Draco love (so am I) but thankfully we are very close. I have a special gift next chapter since ya'll have been so patient with me, by the way. Look forward to that.

I need criticism! Tell me what you think, what you like, and what you don't like. I'm open for questions, suggestions, ideas, anything at all. I can't even begin to tell you guys how much your feedback has helped this story continue. Reviews are cherished!


	17. Moment of Madness

**Rating:** Mature.

**Warning: **Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness. Drug use.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any of the songs mentioned in this chapter.

**_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________**

**Previously...**

After reading the Daily Profit's revealing article naming Harry Potter a potential threat, Draco put a back-up plan into action to buy some time. Elsewhere, Harry met his new anger management counselor, Dr Bellatrix Lestrange, who might just have plans of her own to fulfill.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Moment of Madness**

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Though his feet seemed to know exactly where he was headed, Harry was hardly watching where he was going, his thoughts a never-ending, dispassionate chant of 'I hate that bitch'.

Though an appealing prospect, breaking his punishment twice in one day on his first day of punishment when he was already in hot water with the Headmaster was about the most foolish decision he could make at this point, so going for a drive was out of the question. Running a few laps around the track sounded like a Godsend right about now, though, or even better; a couple undisturbed hours with his guitar and one of his notebooks. He knew he tended to become quiet when he was angry or miserable and the last thing he needed was his roommates to notice something was wrong and question him about it, as that would lead to the eventual truth about where he had been and why. As it was, he didn't want to lie to them. He didn't like liars and he didn't want to hate himself any more than he did at the moment by making himself one.

Hearing his stomach growling its argument that he was still a growing boy in dire need of sustenance, Harry decided to risk it.

Normal times, Harry would refuse to let such a petty encounter bother him. It was a philosophy of sorts. If you let everything get to you, there's no way you could handle the big shit life wanted to throw at you without a mental breakdown. Of course, that didn't mean he didn't have some soft spots; triggers that could set him off quick, but usually, he could deal with people like Bellatrix. Some of the shit that woman said, though, managed to get under his skin and he hated himself for letting it.

One of the main things that pissed him off about the woman, aside from her damnably ironic passive-aggression (which, really, you'd think a short temper was something of a counter-productive trait to being an anger management counselor), was her insulting insinuation that he was some insolent child acting out because of his wild and unruly upbringing.

It was the one thing Harry was starting to hate about Hogwarts. To these people who didn't know him, didn't understand him, he was an unruly youth in need of disipline and guidance. Nobody here believed he was capable of making his own desicions, not by a long shot. Now, he'd be the first one to admit some of his choices in the past couldn't exactly be considered wise ones. Sure, he always tried to do the right thing; always had good motives behind his actions, but he was only human. Everyone was in entitled to their fair share of mistakes and he had learned from them, always.

Having strength through experience in that kind of sense was something Harry was proud of, in a way. That kind of independence was vastly important to him. Nobody needed him and he didn't need anybody. A bittersweet thought, but nonetheless true. But here, to these people, he was just some stereotypical 'bad apple' teenager, systematically spoiling the whole barrel. The barrel, in this case, meaning an entire school of horribly sheltered youths in need of a serious dose of reality.

Harry knew what the big bad world outside the educational system had to offer, witnessed first hand the decay of society, slummed it with the human throwaways and quickly learned to make the best of it, because being lonely and surrounded by loners was still better than being lonely and alone.

Nobody seemed to understand how different Hogwarts was from every other time of his life. Everyone saw how quickly he'd adapted to the Academy and just assumed where he was before wasn't that much of a change from where he found himself now. But it was. It really was, and that was exactly the reason he was so comfortable here. It was the exact opposite from where he was before and he really, really liked that.

Harry's life so far could be sectioned into three parts; before the Dursleys', before high school and now, before Hogwarts.

Harry couldn't really remember anything from before the fire, before he was sent to live with his mother's sister. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but what little he did remember aside from the feeling he got when he looked through the photo albums Sirius had, the ones that weren't lost to the fire, was the fragments of dreams that he could hardly remember when he woke up but always left him smiling. Harry never had those kind of dreams anymore.

Before high school was a time when his godfather's company and music were his only solace. Life was misery ninety percent of the time. One hand couldn't count the number of friends (acquaintances, really; _close _friends were nonexistent back then) he'd had, solely thanks to Dudley's constant interference and sadistic need to make his life miserable because he didn't have a life of his own. Not much happened in the way of physical abuse, but he was practically a live-in slave for the Dursleys' until Sirius found out and threatened bodily harm and potential public mortification via a call to social services. It was better after that in the sense that he didn't have to sleep under the stairs anymore and they didn't work him as hard, but he was pretty much always locked in his room, which was better than having to be around his relatives but pretty much the equivalent to a jail cell.

The seclusion was enough to drive him insane if he didn't get out, so he did. After time, Harry'd gotten good at climbing from two floors up out from his window when things got particularly bad and he'd run away, countless times that didn't count and only one that did.

Before Hogwarts and after high school, life was hectic, always. Dudley finally had his own life, pathetic as it was, which meant his love of torturing Harry only made itself known when Harry was present, but even then, he was already an outcast in school. It was a well-established fact that bullies loved him and since he would never back down, whatever the consequences, he was always in trouble. The only real friend he made back in public high school was Cedric and that was by accident, and if he had a second chance, he'd give it up without a second thought.

Harry shook that thought away, knowing it would lead to even more miserable thoughts.

Despite everything, it was the best time of his life at that point because finally, he wasn't alone. He had _friends_. Kids with parents that didn't care or, like him, no parents at all; kids that avoided school like the plague; society's reject children that liked him because, oh, he could relate. He went through more changes than he could count back then, at the ripe age of fifteen, and people started to notice.

And suddenly, Harry wasn't some bitter loser anymore; he was interesting. He stopped hating his position in life, stopped caring about what anyone thought, and instead, he lived it up. He started seeing life as a learning experience and he was learning a lot. He discovered freedom and finally had something to smile about.

His friends saw him as the good boy born in the wrong neighborhood; the kid that would help a stranger even if only by cheering them up. Looking back now, Harry suspected they probably thought he was homeless, because he never told them were he lived (the quaint little suburban neighborhood with his demon relatives) and stayed out all night most nights at parties or clubs because they never closed and he didn't want to go back to the Dursleys'. They never asked because they respected him; his business was _his _business. If somebody did ask, though, he would've answered, no, he didn't have a home, because the Dursleys' could by no means be qualified as such.

The Dursleys' looked at him differently, then, like they were reevaluating him, like they didn't know what he was capable of anymore. They thought all the changes he was going through had something to do with Sirius, who, for his part, thought the appearance and behavioral changes were completely normal and the attitude changes were 'better than a Gibson for Christmas', bless the man. (1)

The kids he went to school with looked at him differently, then, too. Oh, his jeans were baggy and he had piercings. Oh, he skipped school and smoked on school property. Oh, he came to school with hickeys up his neck and caught rides from people in base-booming low riders. Oh, he was always late by hours and fell asleep during classes. Oh, he got into fights and went to parties with college kids. Oh, he smelled like weed and he was better than you because he didn't give a shit what you had to say.

This was how everyone had started seeing Harry, and that was fine with him, because even if life wasn't his perfect idea of what life should be, it could be a hell of a lot worse. And, hey, at least there was always a party.

He'd had to grow up fast. There was no down time and he always had to watch his back. Anything he wanted, he had to get for himself. There was no helping hand. Sure, there was Sirius and Remus, but they weren't always there. He was self-sufficient, independent and proud of it, but even so, he had never made a real connection with anybody and, had he known back then what would happen when that changed, Harry would've gladly kept it that way.

True to the current trend back then, however, that had to change, too. He did make a connection with someone, his best friend, and for a while, years even, it was wonderful. More than wonderful; it was the best, far more than he deserved. More than he could handle, too, it turned out. Something went wrong. Harry wasn't sure what it was or when it happened, but he knew it was his fault. And, as time had already told, Cedric knew it, too.

Harry physically stopped in his tracks, almost causing someone to collide with his back in the process. Murmuring something like an apology, he leaned back against the wall beside the stairwell leading down to the Great Hall, a wary hand running its way through his hair in an attempt to calm his frazzled nerves as a sigh passed his lips.

Why did everything seem to come back to that?

He knew it wasn't healthy. He knew the fact that he couldn't think almost anything through without the process getting halted by a fucking ghost was slowly turning him into a walking car crash. Everything. Every single thought brought him back to Cedric. He knew he'd have to think about it eventually, but he also knew eventually wasn't now. Until then... he could deal.

Harry let out another sigh. He hated feeling this way, and damn that bitch for making him think about all this shit. He wasn't the kind of person that whined over their problems instead of finding a way to fix them. Sure, he was entitled to his fair share of angst, but generally, he was a happy person that would never, ever let that sham of a doctor get to him. He hated feeling like this much of a head case.

Feeling a bit calmer, but much more depressed, Harry pushed himself off the wall and made his way down the stairs, only to be tailed by his resident stalker.

"Harry?"

"Hey, Colin," he greeted pleasantly, like he always did, even though he wanted to groan.

Colin made Harry feel uncomfortable. The boy always seemed to want to bombard him with questions (a lot of them very weird), follow him around, take his picture. The boy had even asked for his _autograph_. It was unsettling.

Most of the reason he tried to avoid Colin was because of Draco, the person that everyone seemed to go to with rumors for some reason, who informed him weeks ago, an amused little smirk on Cupid's-bow lips, that he heard from one of Creevey's roommates that the boy had a collage of Harry's pictures above his bed. Harry'd said he didn't believe him, but then it wouldn't really surprise him if it turned out to be true. And if it was... Well, being the young reporter's jerk-off material, while flattering on the creepiest level, just wasn't something he needed to know.

"Um, hi. Do you, uh-Do you have a minute?" Colin's unsure tone made Harry stop and look at him, a brow raised. The boy looked cautious. Sure, Colin was weird on the best of days, but he didn't usually stammer the way he was now.

"Why? What's wrong?"

The younger boy was fidgeting and seemed to be keeping his distance, hardly keeping eye-contact. Again, something he didn't usually do. "It's nothing, it's just-Well... Have you read today's _Daily Profit_?"

Harry relaxed, thinking he knew what this was about. When the first article came out about him and Draco, Colin couldn't look him in the face without blushing (though that didn't stop him from trying to get the truth). Harry didn't necessarily _like_ Colin, and the boy's obsessive tendencies could get annoying as hell, but seeing someone get so flustered was always amusing. Call it a sadistic streak, but what the hell, he could use the spirit-lifter right about now.

That in mind, Harry took a step or two closer. "Why? Have I started corrupting other young boys with my wild ways and rugged good looks?" he teased, grinning in a way he knew made Colin uncomfortable.

That little bout of teasing would normally guarantee at least a few minutes of blundering responses from a crimson-faced Colin, but now, the young editor just seemed to sigh in something like relief.

"No, no, it's just that... Well, I know you don't pay much attention to this kind of thing, but you've at least heard about it, right?"

Seeing that Colin wasn't going to be any fun, Harry just shrugged offhandedly, not really interested in what the _Daily Profit_ had to say. From what Seamus had been telling him, and sometimes couldn't shut up about, the _Profit_ was pretty much just repeating themselves at this point, until they got more information. He continued down the stairs, knowing it wouldn't be considered rude because Colin would follow.

"Okay, good. I really didn't want to be the one to break it to you, you know?" Colin stated with a laugh of relief, apparently taking Harry's shrug as an affirmative.

"The story is getting so big they gave it to Rita Skeeter," the younger boy informed Harry after a moment as he caught up to the raven, sounding thrilled at the idea. "She's the one who found the newspaper clippings from where you used to live and wrote about it in her column. I know she's probably holding a lot back right now, but what she released so far was very informative. I mean, I knew if anyone was going to found out who you are, it'd be her, but I bet nobody could've found out nearly as much. It had to have taken some serious investigative reporting, don't you think, Harry?"

"Rock n' roll," Harry said agreeably. He'd learned recently that if he just sounded consonant, he didn't have to listen to a word the younger boy said. That was another thing about Colin; once he got started, he just wouldn't _shut up_.

"Exactly! Anyway, I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry about what happened. I know their just doing their jobs, but maybe they should've gotten permission to release that kind of information, you know, about your parents and what happen with that Diggory person to the public. Which is actually what I wanted to ask you about-"

Up until that point, Harry'd been mostly blocking him out, but hearing Cedric's name almost caused him to trip on the last few steps on the stairway. Righting himself, Harry gave Colin an alarmed look. It was like seeing him for the first time. "What did you say?"

The young editor's eyes widened and he started to backpedal, his arms flailing uselessly in front of him. "Um! Not that I believe it, but they named a lot of sources, which isn't something they usually do, and-"

Confidant that nothing else the boy had to say would be of any more interest to him, Harry picked up his pace and headed toward the doors of the Great Hall. Not two steps inside, he froze.

In retrospect, the fact that the Profit was focusing on him wasn't that surprising at all. It was stupid that they would care so much, definitely, but not surprising. The fact that they were bringing his parents and Cedric into it _was_, however, and Harry was cursing himself for not expecting this. How many people knew about his parents? About what happened? About _Cedric_?

Looking around, it was obvious everyone knew. Everyone. Ever walk into a flooded room and just know instinctively that everyone around you was watching you, thinking about you, talking about you? Harry got a sudden, horrible sense of déjà vu, looking at those faces. The looks he was getting were familiar, the same ones his old friends gave him after Cedric died; the distrust transparent. Maybe he was being paranoid, but as far as he could tell the accusation was there, too, and so was the caution. He felt light-headed and, for the first time in his life, Harry wanted to run.

"It's not true, is it, Harry? I mean-"

Colin sounded apologetic for even questioning him.

"No. It's not," Harry answered in a way that was both quiet and firm, sending a dark look behind him that made the younger boy swallow audibly. Harry didn't want to snap at the boy, but he had to get ahold of himself and Colin was not helping. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his eardrums.

_'Tell me, Harry, do you blame your parents for your upbringing?'_

"I-I knew it couldn't be, that it must be some horrible misunderstanding or exaggeration or-"

"Colin!" Harry barked, regretting it a second later when more of those wide-eyed stares came his way, now accompanied by whispers. His jaw was clenched so tight he could hear his teeth creak in protest.

He couldn't handle this.

_'Are your parents the only ones that have left you?'_

Fuck this! He had to get out of here. He wasn't about to be put on display, not about this. Cedric and his parents and himself, his _life_, none of it was anyone's business but his. If they wanted scandal, they could go fuck themselves. He wasn't a side-show put here for their sick entertainment.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you angry, it's just that-"

At the end of his rope, Harry rounded on the boy.

--

You know that feeling you get when you look up once during a meal or whatever and catch more than one or two people looking back at you? Averting their eyes when they see you look up? A feeling right on the verge of paranoia but not quite that makes you just a little more alert of your surroundings, makes Draco press a napkin to his mouth just in case, because it just wouldn't do to be caught eating like Potter or, God forbid, the Weasel. The napkin came back clean, however, and still, it's nothing too unusual, because looking the way Draco did, people tended to look, he knew, no matter what age or gender. Most of them didn't even notice.

The phrase 'it's quiet, too quiet' was suddenly at the tip of his tongue, though, only it wasn't quiet; it never was during dinner in the Great Hall.

But still.

At the moment, Draco, Seamus and Dean were the only ones at their table. Ron and Blaise were stationed obediently back in dorm room sixty-six, waiting patiently for Harry in case the raven decided to stop by the dorms before heading to dinner and ready to intervene should some brave soul decided to inform Potter of his recent upgrade from semi-normal teenager to psychotic killer. Technically, only one of them needed to be there, but Ron couldn't be trusted alone with Potter and had to be supervised until further notice, until they (Draco, to be specific) were sure the redhead wouldn't blab what he knew. And sure, playing decoy would be easier if they knew where Harry'd gone off to, but as it was, they had to improvise.

Draco and the couple sitting across from him were keeping a constant surveillance on the entrance of the Great Hall, anticipating the arrival of the boy in question. No one was saying anything, something Draco found incredibly odd. He'd think Seamus at least would be a panicky mess right now, and he was, only silently.

Dean, on the other hand, seemed to remain perfectly calm. He was eating his dinner and only glancing up at the doorway every few minutes or so, stubbornly oblivious to the looks their table was receiving. Forced ignorance. In fact, only when he'd catch sight of Finnigan's worried face would his collected façade waver, if only in the slightest.

All in all, Draco was impressed with the both of them. Even he himself was more than a little nervous, though he was careful not to show it. He kept his eyes down, knowing that if nothing else, his eyes always betrayed what he was actually feeling. Everytime someone came in that even vaguely resembled Potter, the butterflies in Draco's stomach started to feel more like bats. Huge, panicky, terrified bats. Contrary to his seemingly cool outward composure, he was mentally smacking his forehead at his own stupidity.

The Great Hall was pretty much as it always was, both the students and the teachers mutual relief of the day being over only marred by the fact that it was only Monday. Today, though, something was off, and no one failed to notice. A hissing undertone of whispers and preoccupied halts of normally rambunctious chatter had Draco sitting straighter and on the edge of his seat since ten minutes after he had sat down with his tray and the couple now sitting across from him where it came as a startling realization.

He, Draco Malfoy, the one who'd practically invented the Hogwarts rumor mill, had underestimated his schoolmates ability to spread rumors.

Looking around, it was obvious how many people knew about the new column. Like a game of telephone, the news was spreading from one person to the next. It would seem Seamus wasn't the only one harbouring an unhealthy interest in the lives of others, namely Harry Potter and himself, in this case. Even the Professors were acting strange, seemed to know something was off.

As if hearing Draco's thoughts, Snape's gaze swept the entire room with a suspicious glare, finally settling on Draco's blond head. At Draco's innocent, confused blink, Snape's eyes narrowed further in certainty, apparently finding the culprit he was searching for. Draco honestly felt insulted that his godfather had so little faith in him. He reminded himself not to use the innocent card again when it came to Severus, as it never seemed to work.

Feeling a sudden kick under the table, Draco's eyes snapped back to the two in front of him. Seamus caught his eye and jerked his chin in the direction of the front entrance, and the butterflies in Draco's stomach seemed to multiply ten fold. He mentally cursed himself at how fast his head snapped toward the doorway.

He almost slumped in his seat in disappointment at seeing who it actually was that Seamus was alerting him to. It wasn't Potter, but Smith, food tray in hand, standing in front of the registers with his nose stuck in the air like he owned the place and uncaringly forcing everyone to walk around him. The boy seemed to be looking for someone, three guesses as to whom, and only stepped out of the walkway when he spied their table.

"Why's he coming over here?" Seamus wondered aloud, momentarily distracted from his internal pacing.

"Guess he figures this is where Harry's going to sit," Dean surmised, then furrowed his brow. "But why's he here in the first place? I'm mean, isn't he a Junior?"

He was, as far as Draco knew. Seniors and Juniors didn't usually eat their meals together (Dumbledore's way of insuring meals were kept semi-placid by separating close age groups) unless one of their multi-grade classes, PE for example, coincided with their designated meal times. That wasn't the case with Smith, however, as Draco had never seen the boy here before, and that could only mean one thing.

The little shit had his classes changed.

After Draco, Dean was the first to come to realization. "Oh, my God," he groaned, loose dreads swaying as he shook head in incredulity. He didn't look surprised, not really, and Draco wondered idly if the boy had somehow known something like this was coming.

Finnigan seemed to come to the same conclusion after a moment, because he let out a poorly disguised chuckle into his fist and, with an amused smirk he couldn't quite restrain, whispered from behind his hand, "Somebody's a little desperate, huh?" followed by a louder, "See, Dean? Didn't I tell you that kid was crazy?"

Draco's brow shot up a little at that.

"You _know _him?" he asked, the prospect sounding like fate worse than death. Though it probably should've, it had never occurred to Draco that any of his roommates had met Smith before the GSA meeting they'd had earlier that day.

Seamus let out an annoyed little huff and let Dean answer for him.

"They had a detention together once, last year," Dean began, like this wasn't the first time he'd had to recite this particular story. "They had to write lines however many times and, since Seamus forgot to bring a pen, he had to borrow this pink, feathery, gel pen from Parvati."

"It was like the pen Alicia Silverstone used in _Clueless_," Seamus felt the need to defend himself with, for whatever reason. Draco didn't know which was more ridiculous; the obscure reference in itself or the fact that he knew exactly which pen Seamus was talking about.

Dean nodded, smiling down at Seamus indulgently, even though he had never seen the movie, before turning back to Draco. "Anyway, Zach was sitting in front of him and when they passed the papers forward-"

Seamus interrupted him, just like he always did, and made an indignant sound. "He just stared down that snotty nose of his at it, then at me and said," he paused for dramatic effect, then put on an empathetic tone that surprisingly sounded a lot like the blond he was impersonating, "'People like you are the reason there are so many gay stereotypes.'"

Draco laughed, because that sounded exactly like something Smith would say, then scowled as the subject of conversation approached the table. Draco didn't bother to hide his scorn, and by the look on his face, it was evident. Being at the very end of the table, there were plenty of seats Smith could've taken on the same side and still kept a safe distance from him. Smith chose to sit directly at Draco's right, however, because there was no way Potter could sit beside Draco if the only available seat remotely close to his was taken.

The fact that Smith would rather sit beside Draco than allow Potter to was hilariously obvious, and Draco smirked, feeling strangely smug. Yes, if Potter was there, that was exactly where he'd sit, right next to Draco. That thought brought Draco's anger back down to a tolerable level. That is, until Smith opened his mouth.

"Malfoy," the boy greeted pleasantly enough, but apparently decided the couple sitting across from them simply didn't exist.

That was the first word Smith had ever said to Draco, and it felt like how two competitors bowed to each other or shook hands before they beat the snot out of each other. If Smith saw this as a competition, Draco certainly didn't want to lose, but then he wasn't sure if he wanted to win, either, because he wasn't sure what winning entailed exactly. If Draco did compete, he wouldn't know if he was fighting for something he wanted or fighting just for the sake of winning. For now, Draco decided he'd fight for the sake of fighting and leave it that.

For a while, nobody said anything. The tense aura surrounding the two blonde haired boys didn't seem to effect the younger one, as he was blissfully picking the shrimp and crab out from his summer rolls and flipping through an _Us Weekly_. It was becoming increasingly obvious, however, that there was only room for one blond at their table. Seamus and Dean both felt the urge to move in hopes of avoiding the inevitable blood-shed, but mostly wanted to see how this collision would turn out.

Feeling uncomfortable in the near silence and thinking someone should really be saying something, Seamus cleared his throat pointedly.

Zach looked up with only his eyes, like Seamus wasn't worth the energy required to move his head. The expression on his face said he didn't appreiciate the interruption, but he waited with an impatiently raised eyebrow for Seamus to speak, nevertheless.

But now that the Irishman had his attention, he didn't know what to say. He wanted to ask why Zach was there, but he knew he'd have to be blind not to already know. What he really wanted to know was why the boy was trying so hard to get Harry's attention. After all, they'd only just met, what, a few hours beforehand? What he eventually settled on was a weirded out, "Um, hi?"

For a second, Zach just stared at the Irishman like he had said something particularly stupid, then nodded once, slowly, before going back to what he was doing. He had his reasons for being there; small talk wasn't one of them.

Draco casually drummed his fingernails on the tabletop and stared, internally fantasizing about breaking the younger boy's neck. After a moment, the constant tapping drew Smith attention to him, and he quirked an eyebrow.

"Is there any particular reason why you're here?" Draco asked imperiously, knowing there was, but wanting to see if Smith would actually say it.

Zach chuckled passively and flipped another page in his magazine, not deigning to answer Draco's question but returning it with one of his own. "Is it pretentious of me to feel flattered that you see me as such a threat?"

Seamus and Dean were the only ones that saw Draco's eyes flash, and their jaws dropped a fraction.

"Among other things, yes, it is," Draco answered tightly, sounding so much like his father with his 'polite' tone. "But I think you should know," he continued casually. Then his voice took on a more serious edge, "If you're waiting for Harry, you're wasting your time."

Finally, Draco had Smith's undivided attention, and the boy looked up at him fully for the first time, not expecting Draco to be so direct so soon. A short staring contest preceded his statement, and unbeknownst to the Junior, while Draco's words may have seemed preamble to confrontation, putting Smith in his place wasn't something on Draco's agenda today.

Meanwhile, Seamus and Dean watched the two blondes with all the engrossed attention of a live audience. All worrys of Harry's arrival died in anticipation of Zach's responce and, though Dean only had a slight, intuitive idea of what was happening between the two sitting across from him, Seamus knew exactly what was transpiring.

Although it was quite uncharacteristic of him and took more effort than he would've imagined, Seamus had kept Draco's secret. Normally, he would've immediately gone to Dean with the news, but something told him not to. Whatever was going on with Draco and Harry was more than just a fleeting high school affair and he knew, somehow, that bringing this out into the open would do more harm than good. He wanted to help, of course, but as of now, Draco wouldn't even allow him to breach the subject. He supposed the only thing to do now was wait and see.

Draco's lips were still tingling at having used Potter's given name, and he was surprised at how good it felt, foreign but good. He'd only said it once before and was only using it now because of Smith. It was obvious the Junior thought he and Potter were more than what they were, and since it gave Draco an edge, he intended to keep it that way. Though what Draco didn't know was that it had the exact opposite effect on Zach. Forbidden fruit and all that.

"Oh? And why is that?" Zach questioned, still just as pleasant, though visibly more guarded.

"He isn't coming," Draco claimed easily, delivering the lie expertly with the exact amount of mock-sympathy. Or mock-mock-sympathy, as was the case. He picked up his relatively untouched fork as he continued, offhandedly stating, "He's eating dinner at his godfather's tonight."

"Colin!"

Four heads turned toward the entrance and Draco cursed silently upon seeing Potter at the most inopportune moment. He'd been sure the raven wasn't going to show, as even Potter was never quite _this _late. But no, there Potter was, destroying his chances of driving Smith away with a fabricated story and unwillingly leading his obsessed fan-boy, Colin Creepy, toward their table.

Wonderful.

Zach looked back at the blond sitting next to him, understanding lighting his countenance as he realized the Malfoy sitting next to him wasn't just going to quietly accept his presence and move on, but would likely fight him with all he had. The challenge was intriguing and a positively smug smile played on his lips. "Nice try," he drawled, but was nevertheless genuinely impressed by the failed attempt.

Let the game begin, Zach thought. If his blond upperclassmen caused him any trouble in this tug-of-war over Harry, the Junior would make sure his victory hurt.

Draco glared, wanting to claw the boy's eyes out of their sockets. He was pissed that he'd been caught lying to the other's face, pissed at Potter for having the worst timing _ever_. Oh, but of course now would be the time Potter finally decided to arrived, though, wouldn't it?

"Oh, no," Dean, the only one not too entirely swept up in the conversation at hand to allow himself to become completely blind-sighted, groaned in dismay at the scene Harry and Colin were creating. This brought Draco's attention back to the duo with suddenly wide eyes, finally remembering why it was a bad thing that the raven was speaking to the school's most gossiply informed editor, but far too late.

"I am NOT a murderer!!"

The Great Hall was quieter now than Draco had ever heard it, and to anyone watching the scene post-Potter's mad declaration, they didn't see just seconds before how a shaken, surprised Colin had tripped over his own two feet in his haste to get away from the older boy, only the events that followed that sent Creevey to the floor with a panting, wild-looking Potter standing over him, fists still clenched tightly at his sides and snarling like an animal.

Potter's crazed proclaimation was at contrary to the sight.

For that second when Potter lost all composure, stripped bare in front hundreds of his peers, monstrous and angry, Draco didn't recognise him. This Potter wasn't someone he knew. This wasn't the charming, talented, charismatic, happy-go-lucky boy with a smile that made everyone want to trust him and made Draco's breath hitch and heart race when he got too close. No, this Potter was darker. This Potter was a boy whose parents were burned alive before he was old enough to even remember them and grew up alone in a world that didn't care beyond their initial responce to reading a tragic headline or news report. This was the Potter Draco saw every time the raven's eyes got dark and his smile disappeared; a Potter that both excited and frightened him.

The professors had all stood, at a loss for what to do exactly, but ready to break apart the fight they thought was transpiring. The students only stared unblinkingly with slack jaws and wide eyes, some with a hand over their mouths in astonishment. And as for Potter... well, Potter seemed to come out of his moment of madness after a few seconds of staring into the pale, terrified face of the boy still on the floor.

The raven stood straighter, clenching his eyes shut tightly and pulling at his hair with one hand while the other stayed fisted. He took a glance around and only for a moment did his eyes meet Draco's, but even though he shook his head in dismay and left the Great Hall directly after at a pace neither sluggish nor quick, Draco had seen the raven's remorse and misery. Something was wrong, and it wasn't only the _Daily Profit_ that caused Potter's expression of anger and pain.

Draco didn't know he'd stood up until he sank back into his seat, distraught. Potter's expression was heartbreaking, and it served as a potent reminder that he was the reason the raven was suffering. He felt sick and, as the noise of the Great Hall returned and increased ten fold, conversations replaying what they'd just witnessed with faces grinning like hyenas in enthusiasm, Draco seriously thought he was going to vomit.

"Wow," Zach breathed from beside him to no one in particular, sounding dazed. "I had no idea he was such a loose cannon."

Draco gave the other blond his iciest glare, but Smith wasn't paying him any mind. Instead, the Junior was staring at the double doors Potter had just disappeared from, starry-eyed and practically swooning. Seamus and Dean, incredulous, met Draco's eyes from across the table with wide eyes and opened mouths, and Draco was sure his own expression was similar. It was obvious, now, that Smith was absolutely, if not clinically, insane.

This was the most insight Draco'd ever had into how Smith felt about Potter, and Draco was surprised that the younger boy's infatuation seemed so genuine. It wasn't that Draco didn't know where the Junior was coming from, because he honestly did. Potter was intriguing and dangerous, albeit in an unintentional kind of way, and not to mention gorgeous, Draco couldn't deny that. Both of those things together made him exciting. The raven was the epitome of that awful cliché teenage girls went bonkers for; the troubled bad boy with a heart of gold, shady past included.

Draco left the Great Hall soon after that, careful to avoid the accusing eyes of his godfather. The rest of the night was spent in relative quiet aside from Ron's gloating about his being right and the others telling him to shut up. Seeing as Potter didn't show up at the dorm, they'd ended up having to cover for him, informing McGonnagal that the raven was already asleep and, having witnessed what happened at dinner, McGonnagal didn't push it. Potter still wasn't there when everyone was asleep.

In fact, even for days after that, Potter made sure to keep himself scarce. He eventually did show up sometime during the night after the spectacle he made at dinner Monday, but he managed to avoid everyone, even his roommates, the morning after until classes, where he was required to be seen. But even then, he hardly spoke to anyone, and when he did, it was clipped and only when necessary.

The rest of the week continued in the same fashion, and by then, everyone had already had enough. Potter made himself the master of avoidance. Most of his time was spent in the gym's weight room, the pool or the track, like as long as he was moving, keeping himself busy, he didn't have to think. Though he did attend meals, he left as soon as his plate was cleared. He didn't seemed to be sleeping, either, if the shadows under his eyes were any consolation, and he hardly ever smiled anymore.

Tuesday, Draco received two apparently urgent emails from his father, which he deleted immediately unopened, and an extravagant care package from his mother with a small note not even hinting at her opinion on the previous day's _Daily Profit_, the post script of which read 'Take care of Harry, Darling, and make sure you send my love' like Draco was the raven's Sheppard or something. Even if he did as his mother requested, Draco didn't know how to act around this new, dissociative Potter. The raven barely spoke to anyone that day, despite everyone's concerned attempts, so Narcissa's love was left unsent.

Seamus thought it best to postpone Potter's idea of handing out condoms with his GSA flyers until Potter was up to it.

Wednesday brought two more emails and an unassuming letter from his father in an plain white envelope that actually managed to look angry, both of which went ignored and were similarly trashed. To Draco's dismay and surprising gratitude, Smith was back to eating meals at their table and, without looking like he was trying too hard when he was, actually made Potter laugh.

Thursday brought nothing from Lucius, but Narcissa did leave a message with an amused Snape that said 'Do respond to your father, Darling. You're driving him positively insane from the cold shoulder. If I have to listen to one more rant about what an spoiled, ungrateful son you are, you'll be receiving coal for christmas'.

Thursday also managed to bring even more problems for Draco and Harry, both.

--

By the time Harry finished his second set of bench presses that Thursday after classes in the weight room, the soccer team had just left the locker room, he was covered in sweat and in terrible need of a shower. He saw Zach, upside down, before he heard him, leaning against the door that connected the weight and locker rooms.

"How'd I know you'd be in here?" Zach questioned, crossing his arms.

"Omnipresence?" Harry replied as the Junior made his way over, then grunted in strain. "Spot me, will you?"

Instead of doing as requested, Zach swung his leg over and sat firmly on top of Harry's stomach, which, along with the strain of what he was lifting, knocked the wind out of him. "Oomph," Harry grunted, panting in exhaustion when he finally managed to let go of the weights. "Thanks," he told the boy sitting on his stomach as sarcastically as he could.

Harry was reminded, not for the first time in the past week, of how much like a cat Zach could be with wanting all of his undivided attention. He was glad the room was empty, as their position couldn't very well be considered innocent. Hell, his relationship with Zach in its entirety couldn't be considered innocent.

Since the GSA meeting, Zach was suddenly always there. It was funny, he'd only seen Zach a handful of times before that, but now, these little meetings were turning into an everyday occurrence. They even had the same lunch hour, and he'd just never noticed before.

It turned out the Junior wasn't nearly as as cynical as Harry'd thought at first. He was actually very sweet, adorably dimpled smiles and caring demeanor. Even when Harry really didn't want to talk to anyone, Zach's clever responses were always amusing.

"No problem," Zach replied cattily, smirking as he traced sweat down Harry's chest.

"Nice outfit," the raven complimented, finally noticing what the younger boy was wearing; Light blue and white, long-sleeved jersey with matching shorts and knee-high socks. His hair was tied back into a tiny ponytail. Adorable.

"The soccer team finally got the new uniforms in," Zach informed him, grinning when Harry popped the elastic on his socks.

"Ah. Very cute," Harry commented, then raised a brow expectantly. "Are you gonna get off?"

"I was counting on it," the blond mentioned offhandedly, smiling coyly at the innuendo when Harry let out a surprised laugh. "But first I wanted to know whether your eyes are red because your high or because you still haven't been sleeping. Or do you still not want to talk about it?"

"Augh, I've barely slept at all in three days," Harry sighed, scrubbing at his face. "Everything's starting to feel like an out-of-body experience."

It wasn't only the lack of sleep. Harry couldn't write. What used to constitute as something like theraputic writing was crap now. Nothing that came from his pen was worth anything feeling the way he was. He was dozing off in class, forgetting his homework, coming to class late. Remus was worried as hell about him, despite Harry constantly telling him was fine, and lying like that just made him feel guilty.

"The insomnia distance of everything," Zach smiled, quoting Harry's favorite author, and the first book that made him realise not all books were lame. (2)

"A copy of a copy of a copy," Harry played along, smiling like he hadn't for a while.

"You should see a doctor," Zach informed him, raising a brow at Harry when the raven snorted. "Or I could get you some Seconals," he offered with a shrug, not inquiring as to why the raven had an apparent aversion to doctors. It was something Harry was starting to like about the Junior; he never pushed.

"I don't think my condition is severe enough to require pharmaceutical aid just yet," Harry said, disinclined to inform the younger boy that this problem he was tackling wasn't exactly new. He'd been waking up in the middle of the night in cold sweats for the over a year. He'd thought it had gotten so much better since he'd come to Hogwarts, but lately the nightmares were a lot worse than usual; not just a replay of what happened like he was used to but a reality that was capable of having him thrash in his sleep, fighting the invisible monsters in his head and struggling to wake up. He knew that, with his luck, the little red pills Zach was offering would do their job, but then keep him trapped in his dreamworld, unable to wake up.

Banishing these thoughts, Harry frowned at the Junior, telling him as if in warning, "Plus, I don't want you buying shit from people you don't know."

"Aw, that's sweet," Zach tilted his head and smiled brilliantly, dimpling his cheeks, pleased blue eyes warm. "You're worried about me," he cooed, then made a face before giving Harry a grave look. "And you stink."

Harry laughed again, loving how Zach never failed to surprise him. "Not all of us can get through soccer practice and still smell like lavender," he teased, sitting up and lifting Zach by his hips to sit beside him instead of on his stomach. He sniffed and made a face. "But, yeah, I could use a shower. Sorry to cut short this stimulating repartee," he grinned. And that was exactly what it was, whenever they were together; quick replies and flirty banter. Absolutely nothing serious.

Standing and helping Harry up with him, Zach gave a suggestive smile. "I think with us it constitutes as foreplay."

Harry chuckled as the Junior's arms encircled his neck, his own hands finding the younger boy's thin hips and pulling him closer. "Yeah? Is that why you're gonna join me?"

Zach smiled wider, blue eyes dancing. "Is that an invitation?"

Zacherias Smith was the epitome of temptation then, and who was Harry to resist? A boy, like all the other boys, with that one thing in mind. Seeing the Junior playing with his lip ring, a tactic that always got to the raven, Harry was hopeless to do anything but acquiesce.

--

The roommates of dorm room number sixty-six were wasting time in the rec room, flipping randomly through channels on the TV, when Harry sank down into the sofa between Blaise and Draco, hair wet and freshly showered.

"You look happy," Seamus said in surprise, not an acknowledgement, but a statement.

Harry shook his head distractedly and just grinned wider. "He doesn't have a gag reflex..." he muttered to himself.

Eyes wide in shock and knowing exactly what that had to mean, Draco could've choked on air as he turned to Potter, sounding shrill as he exclaimed, "What?"

"Wait, turn back," Seamus told Dean, then turned to Draco when he did so. "Look, Draco, it's your dad."

Momentarily distracted from demanding Potter to repeat what he'd just said, hoping against all logic it wasn't what it was, Draco glanced at the television, and sure enough, there he was. Lucius Malfoy in all his esteemed glory in front of reporters and microphones, photographers and cameramen, pristine and imperious as ever with a tilt of the lips that could almost be called a smile for the PR. Draco wondered if this was the reason his father had been so avid to speak with him.

_"...the rumors recently surrounding your son,_" some unseen reporter was saying. "_As everyone is aware, Chief of Police, Tom Riddle, has made it apparent on multiple occasions that his campaign is whole-heartedly against gay marriage and has plans to put a statewide ban into effect should he be elected. And yet it is believed that your own son is involved in a homosexual relationship._"

Lucius looked like he had anticipated the question. _"Yes, it certainly is amazing what the press can come up with," _he said calmly, as if in agreement to something the reporter had asked. _"While it is correct that this campaign is not in favor of gay marriage, that does not mean we don't value the gay community. And as for my son, my wife and I have always discouraged against discrimination. Draco is his own person, I trust his judgement and encourage him to be friends with anyone he sees fit. And allow me to assure you, if these rumors were true, his mother and I would be the first to know."_

_"And what do you have to say about Harry Potter, Mr Malfoy?"_ another reporter questioned.

_"Just that I look forward to meeting a part of my wife's family," _Lucius smiled warmly, slyly to anyone who knew him. _"Next question, please."_

The crowd sounded surprised at this new information, and Draco pinched the bridge of his nose at the sudden onslaught of déjà vu. The reporters all thought exactly what he himself had thought when he'd first discovered the connection between Potter and his mother; that they were blood relatives.

Despite his distress and disbelief, Draco was grudgingly impressed with his father's silver tongue. Not only did Lucius dispell all the rumors concerning him and Potter's relationship by making it seem like they were no more than close family members, but he managed to downplay the entire gay marriage issue just by switching the word 'against' to 'not in favor of'. Lucius truly was, as the media had dubbed him, the Sultan of Spin. (3)

"What a joke," Harry scoffed, glaring at the television. The nerve of this man was outrageous. "This is the exact opposite of what he had to say before, that slippery shit. Legolas looking mother-"

"Nobody asked you, Potter," Draco snapped, his eyes fixated on the TV and his voice hard. "Just what the hell do you know. You've never even met my father."

_"Mr Malfoy, there's been talk of a possible investigation is the works concerning campaign funding..."_

"What?" Harry exclaimed in disbelief, taken aback by the blonde's sudden anger. He motioned toward the TV. "Draco, he just lied on national television! First he tells you you can't ever see me again, then suddenly I'm family and he can't wait to meet me? How can you even stick up for him after that?"

"Calm down, guys. This isn't worth fighting about," Dean told them, knowing his advice would go unheard.

"What did you expect him to say?" Draco hissed through clenched teeth. He looked nothing less than fierce as he gave the raven a sideways glare before turning in his seat to face him fully, trying his best to sound patronizing as he explained, "It's his _job_, Potter. If he didn't lie, he wouldn't be one of the most successful men in this country."

Harry looked incredulous. "It's his job to _lie_? Do you even hear yourself?"

"Oh, save me your self-righteous bullshit," Draco scoffed, his voice raising. "You're such a hypocrite. You've been lying to everyone since you got here!"

Harry paused at that, standing but leaning on the arm rest beside Draco as if for support. "Wha- You mean that article?"

"That depends, what else have you been lying about?" Draco questioned scathingly, crossing his arms to put some distance between them. "That you're loaded, that you were born here, that your parents died in an arson fire, that you were _under suspicion for murder_, the people you claim to be your friends all had to find out about that from a _website_. Everyone already knows my father is a liar, Potter, but nobody knows you at all."

For a moment, Harry couldn't even speak. He swallowed past a lump in his throat, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Arson? That's-I didn't even-" he broke off, blinking frantically at his own bewilderment and making it obvious he hadn't read the article. He exhaled loudly and pulled at his hair before sighing and standing straight, looking more exhausted than he had just minutes ago. "Yes, okay? I was under suspicion for awhile," he admited, giving Draco a look somewhere between hurt and betrayal for doubting him. "But I didn't kill anybody. And everything else-" again, he shook his head, "Christ, Draco, you're calling me a liar for keeping secrets I didn't even know I had."

Draco lowered his eyes from the raven's and rubbed at his arms as if cold, feeling guilty and insecure. He sighed, realising how unwarranted his scathing comments were. "Potter, I-I didn't mean-"

"Look, just-Don't worry about it," Harry interrupted, his words sounding like a plea, eyes shut tightly and just too tired to fight. He gave a half-assed wave and made his way to the door. "I'll see you later," was thrown over his shoulder before he disappeared.

"Draco," Blaise shook his head in shame, his brow furrowed. He couldn't even look at the blonde sitting on the other side of the couch. "That was way harsh."

"Sue me," Draco replied, but was more angry at himself than anyone. "I didn't ask for your input, Zabini."

Eyes on his lap, Draco silently cursed himself for letting his emotions get the best of him. He didn't mean to blow up like that. He knew that if he had a past as messed up as Potter's apparently was, he wouldn't want to talk about it either. Making Potter feel bad for not telling anyone about something that was obviously painful to talk about was low, even for him, but now that he knew what Potter and Smith's relationship was turning into, he just couldn't help it. He lashed out on the wrong target.

The guilt was weighing on his shoulders even worse now, mostly because when he probably should've been the least bit thankful that Smith was turning out to be useful, having a positive effect so far on Potter's recently low mood, he would rather see Potter not making any progress at all than making some because of Smith. It can't get more depraved than that, Draco was sure.

When it became apparent that Potter himself didn't know that he had money, that he was born in Merlin, or about the possible arson, the guilt swept over him like a tidal wave, making him realize instantly what an ass he was. To break the news to Potter like that was unforgivable, and he was surprised Potter didn't throttle him. The raven had too much on his plate already, he didn't need Draco adding to the pile, and from now on, Draco was determined not to let Smith make him act that way toward Potter again.

As for the PR meeting, Draco wasn't very worried. Once Potter was finished serving out his punishment, Draco could focus on another public appearence, this one leaving no question to what Draco wanted his father to see their relationship as. He honestly didn't care what the media thought, just his father, and it was obvious Lucius didn't know what was going on. With a overzealous Rita Skeeter on the story, the situation should take care of itself in no time.

In contrast to that good news, however, it was obvious now, that something had to be done about Smith.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**Authors Note: **Long chapter, huh?

(1) A Gibson is a type of guitar.

(2) _Fight Club _by Chuck Palahnuik. Better than the movie.

(3) The Sultan of Spin, cookies to anyone who knows what movie I'm referencing.

I realise how incredibly late this is, but please don't fret, my darling readers, I promise you, this story will never be discontinued. A chapter back, I thought the drama in my life was finally decreasing, but then came crazy weather, crazier relatives, and a pregnancy scare (not me, my sister). Finding the time to actually sit down and type is almost impossible nowadays, with everyone pulling me in different directions.

A special thanks goes out to **x sinister **for telling me I should add the **Previously... **at the top. I forgot how many times I had to go back and reread chapters myself after getting an update.

Also, as I don't want you guys to have a conniption fit, let me assure you that you won't be seeing much Harry/Zach. I'll leave it to your imagination what happened in the shower, as you can guess it wasn't overly much. This is just Harry's casual view on sex, it'll be kind of important later.

Next chapter: the story of Cedric, flashbacks and (since this chapter turned out so long) the gift I've been promising. Expect it soon, seeing as it's mostly finished since I had to divide this chapter up.


	18. Lullaby

**Rating:** Mature.

**Warning:**Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness. Drug use.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any of the songs mentioned in this chapter.

**_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________**

**Previously...**

After Draco's backup plan went down the tube and Harry's past became public knowledge, Harry found refuge in his new friendship with Zach. After finding out just what kind of friendship that was, Draco took his envy out on Harry, ultimately forcing the raven to realise how little his friends really know about him.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Eighteen**

**Lullaby**

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_Through the cheaply painted, pealing brick walls and industrial-grade linoleum tiled floors of a public high school's hallways, a younger, ganglier Harry practically sprinted in effort to get to his next class on time, knowing the Dursleys' would give him hell if the principal asked them to come in and speak with her again about his tardiness. He skidded to a stop in front of his homeroom, sniffing his clothes to make sure the evidence of what he'd done the night before wasn't fragrant. Though it had to have been over six hours since his marijuana-impaired reflexes caused him to spill his beer all over the sleeve of his jacket, he still smelled like Corona, weed and cigarette smoke. He sighed, but knew nothing could be done about it now._

_The second bell had already rung nearly ten minutes before and with an exasperated roll of his eyes, Harry's homeroom teacher gave the raven a disapproving look, but otherwise didn't mention it and told him to take a seat in the only available desk at the back of the room. In his assent, dropping his book bag heavily down on the desk, Harry dropped equally heavily in his seat. He was still tried and a little hung over, but he was nevertheless able to make out the murmured whispers of his chipper classmates commenting on his late arrival, rough-looking appearance and existence in general._

_"Whose bed do you think he rolled out of _this_ morning...?"_

_"My sister said she saw him at the movies last weekend with some older guys. He was driving a motorcycle..."_

_"I dare you to ask him if he's stoned..."_

_Harry didn't understand why they just couldn't ignore him. He'd been going to this school for years, and you'd think they would be used to his presence by now, but everyday was the same thing; his classmates spreading rumors and talking amongst themselves about him like he was newsworthy and him trying in vain to block them out. Normally, he'd pretend he was alone in the room and let them talk, but today, he felt a pair of eyes on him, and since staring openly wasn't something his classmates usually did, Harry looked up, and it was the second biggest mistake of his life._

_Gray eyes widened when they were caught staring and the boy quickly turned back in his seat. Harry couldn't remember ever seeing him before, so he must've been new, and even though Harry usually tried to ignore the student body as a whole, this boy caught him a bit by surprise. This was the poster-boy for what a fifteen-year-old boy should look like, Harry thought, like the pictures of the healthy, happy-looking kids featured in middle school text books._

_"Who's he?" Harry heard the unfamiliar boy ask a moment later in a covert whisper, a new recruit for spreading rumors about him, no doubt._

_"Harry Potter," a girl to the boy's right answered. "A total lost cause. He usually comes to class drunk or high, or both, if he comes in at all. Last week, he started a fight with my best friend's brother's ex-girlfriend's new boyfriend and broke one of his front teeth in. There was blood everywhere and he didn't even get suspended for it..."_

_As the girl continued telling stories about him, Harry found himself angry at one of his gossiping classmates for the first time in a long time. He couldn't explain it, because normally, he wouldn't care what they had to say about him._

_"Hey, Ashley," Harry called her, though he was pretty sure the girl's name was Tiffany or something else ending in A-N-Y. He continued with a leer when he had her attention. "Ever seen a dead body?"_

_What's-her-name's eyes widened, and Harry saw the new boy cough in attempt to cover a laugh before the teacher started speaking._

_"We have a new student this morning, class. If you would, please stand and introduce yourself."_

_Said new student stood obediently, like a good boy, and his eyes connected again with Harry's as he introduced himself._

_"My name is Cedric Diggory."_

--

Leaning against the brick wall behind him, tray of rubbers in one hand, GSA leaflets in the other, Harry tried his best not to sulk.

It was Friday, and Seamus had finally had enough. He'd been allowed to wallow in his misery for the entire school week; enough was enough, Seamus had told him. Usually, during the half hour break he was allowed between his previous class and his next, Harry would grab a bite to eat in the cafeteria, maybe finish an assignment he'd forgotten to the night before, but today, since he was part of the GSA and it was his idea in the first place, Harry should be required to help, apparently.

Only he wasn't doing a whole lot of helping at the moment, as half the school looked wary of him and the other half, strangely enough, seemed intrigued in a way they never had before. He could understand the former, but the latter was weird behavior for even Hogwarts' standards. It had gotten better from how they acted Monday, and he'd apologizing to Colin profusely, but now it was like they all suddenly thought he was hard or something, a thug right off the block. Oh, yeah.

Harry was horribly ashamed of himself, losing grip and submitting to that old, cutting hate that was previously so well ignored, causing a scene like that in front of everyone; his teachers, his entire senior class, his friends. He was embarrassed for making himself look like such a lunatic, and it wasn't something he could simply bounce back from, and not for a lack of trying.

He was perpetually half-asleep now, so much so that it didn't really bother him anymore. When it came to the choice between looking and acting like a sleep-deprived zombie or trying to sleep through his nightmares, he'd pick the former any day. His dreams weren't the vague, something's-creeping-up-on-me type dreams normal people had; these were real, actual memories that his brain decided to keep and replay rather than discard and allow him to forget like he desperately wanted to. Forcing himself to wake up and leave those suffocating memories in the middle of the night and wandering around off in his own universe during the day was wholly preferable to trying to fight through his dreams, but he was petrified at the prospect that sooner or later he would start hallucinating while he was awake, that his dream world and reality would merge and he'd have to face them both.

Harry's trouble with sleeping wasn't the only thing, though. Because he couldn't concentrate long enough to sit down and study and kept dozing off in class, the last test he'd gotten back was a D minus, something that left him feeling disappointed and ashamed of himself for not taking advantage of being here even after he tore it to confetti. The lack of sleep contributed but wasn't wholly to blame for his snapping at anyone and everyone who annoyed him even slightly, his increasing use of sarcasm, and recent, completely out of character, cynical view on pretty much every topic.

Sirius and Remus were worried. Harry hadn't told them anything, but he was sure they knew nevertheless. They weren't worried the way they usually worried, which was the streamline "Are you sure you're alright?" and lingering doubtful looks after every time Harry said he was fine. No, they were worried the way parents would worry about their son; mother hen worried. Sure, Harry felt guilty and loved in way that made him feel more guilty, but he couldn't bring himself to talk about it with them, worrying the way they were. He didn't want to be fussed over like some child, even if it would make them feel better.

Poor, poor Harry.

He hated it, because that was just so easy to do at the moment.

He really didn't want to approach anyone, which was sort of a necessary thing when trying to recruit GSA members like he was suppose to be doing, but his schoolmates were making it incredibly difficult. Putting on a friendly face now, a disarming smile, fake as it was, seemed to conflict with the enigmatic, bad-ass image his schoolmates seemed to have created. You'd think free condoms was enough to see past that, but no.

It wasn't that everyone was acting weird around him. No, most of the friends he'd acquired since coming to Hogwarts seemed to treat him the same, sympathetic at most, which he hated, but it was better than how everyone else was acting.

What bothered him most, though, was how his roommates were acting. Seamus and Dean were great, supportive and understanding, giving him time when he needed it and pushing him when he needed it more, but everyone else was acting so cautious around him, treating him like a mine-field where the tiniest misstep could cause him to explode. And Draco - well, Draco seemed like he couldn't stand to be in the same room as him anymore, and it was killing him. Draco was the person he thought he'd connected most with since coming to Hogwarts, no matter how one-sided it seemed at times, and since the day before, the blond seemed like he was constantly biting his tongue around him.

After his initial reaction, Harry was sort of glad Draco blew up the way he did. Sure, he wanted to throttle the boy at first, but after hearing him out, he realised how right the blonde was, no matter how much it hurt. When it came to not letting anyone know much of anything about him, the blonde was absolutely right. Draco could've used a bit more tact and a lot less insults, but Harry needed to hear it. He hadn't let anyone get to know him, so busy safe-guarding the things he wished to keep private he ended up becoming someone with something to hide. Not a liar as Draco had claimed, but something just as bad.

Maybe this newest article was a blessing in disguise, he considered, bringing everything into the light where it couldn't weigh him down.

That would've sounded like a great prospect if Harry didn't find it so nauseatingly optimistic on so little sleep.

He'd made a choice after the argument with Draco, and even if it wasn't yet carried through with, he was feeling better already, if only a little.

Harry wasn't aware of how far he'd drifted off until a slender hand waved itself in front of his face, breaking him from his internal musings. He plucked the ear buds out from his ears and suddenly, the world came back into focus. It made him wince at how bright it was.

"Are you in there, Potter, or do I need to get Nurse Pomfrey?" Draco asked, sarcastic as usual, giving the raven a strange look as he'd been trying to get the boy's attention for the last minute or so to no avail. Granted, Potter had his iPod on, so he couldn't exactly hear him, but the raven had been staring straight through him.

Harry blinked at him, then yawned hugely, feeling as if he was just waking up. He'd barely gotten three hours of sleep the night before, his thoughts keeping him up, then the dreams. Along with the minimal hours he was able to snag throughout the week, he felt like the living dead. He was getting used to time moving a lot slower now.

Draco's eyebrows furrowed in concern. Potter was acting way too out of it. "You look like crap, Potter," Draco told him, because he honestly did.

Harry snorted, looking at the other boy through hooded eyes. "Thanks, my reflection said shit run over twice, so I guess that's an improvement."

An uncomfortable silence settled between them and the need for apology hung blatantly in the air, stagnant and nagging.

"No luck, I'm guessing?" Draco asked, motioning toward the stack of flyers, then continued when Potter shook his head in the negative. "Everyone else has already run out and restocked. I suppose you're impromptu rock concert didn't give you much in the way of popularity points, after all."

"Are you trying to make small talk?" Harry asked, a genuine question. It sounded kind of like Draco was trying to provoke him, and maybe he was, but with the blond sounding somewhat hesitant, he couldn't be sure. He'd never seen Draco beat around the bush before, and it made him smile slightly at how unpracticed it was. He noticed for the first time how awkward Draco was acting, biting at his lower lip, looking at the floor.

Seeing his tentative approach go so unappreciated, Draco rolled his eyes. "Do you have a minute?"

Harry went to shrug, but something attached itself to his arm, rendering the move impossible. Looking down, he found it was another arm. Huh.

"Here. I figured you could use this," a voice - Zach - stated, dangling a can of RedBull between them enticingly.

Draco sent the younger boy a dirty glare for the interruption, and for acting so sweet to Potter when he was nothing less than an uppity bitch-boy to everyone else. His annoyance was increased when Potter handed him the stack of flyers to free one of his hands.

There was no doubt in Draco's head that this whole considerate boyfriend thing was just an act. Smith, not unlike himself, was the kind of person that usually didn't do anything nice for anyone unless it benefited him in some way. It was a good tactic, Draco supposed, pretending to be a caring person to endear him to Potter, but it was also a very novice move, creating such an intricate lie. The key to lying is to keep it as simple and as close to the truth as possible, the exact opposite of what Smith was doing, and it would be easy, Draco decided, to show Potter Smith's true colors.

"Mm. Thanks," Harry told the can appreciatively before popping the top one-handedly and chugging it as if suffering from dehydration. Once completely drained, Harry let out a satisfied exhale, smacking his lips together. Then he realised Zach was saying something. "Huh?"

"What's your favorite color?" Zach simplified with an amused smile, motioning toward the condoms.

Harry's brow furrowed at the oddness of that question, feeling more awake already. "What?"

Zach giggled -there wasn't any other word for it, really- sweetly, dimples making an appearance. "Are these particularly difficult questions?" he asked in a slow drawl, a teasing smirk playing his lips.

Rolling his eyes with a long-suffering sigh, Draco snatched up a red one and practically threw it at the younger blond, a bit disappointed when he caught it. "Red," Draco answered in a snarl, point-blank and vicious. "And now that the risk of spreading your gonorrhea has lowered, why don't you go find some desperate someone that's willing to fuck you?"

That vicious display of hostility managed to snap Harry from half-asleep to fully awake. Silence reined as he looked back and forth between the two blondes standing on either side of him, staring each other down, hopelessly confused and at a complete loss for what to do. Imagine waking up in the middle of this situation.

Zach broke the staring (glaring) contest with the other blond first. "Harry," he purred, making himself at home leached to the raven's side and fixing the older boy's collar. His voice was silk. "You know I have a private room, don't you?"

Having not known that, Harry arched a brow at him. "Yeah?"

"Mm," Zach hummed in agreement, then continued suggestively, "And while I've heard from some very reliable sources how easily you get around here at night, I'm sure the private building is practically deserted at the moment."

Though Smith wasn't looking at him, Draco got the distinct impression the Junior's smirk was aimed at him. He suddenly thought of Sodom and Gomorrah, dancing so close to the raven and smirking at Smith, dangling Potter in front of the younger boy like a peice of raw meat.

So the game had begun, had it?

Potter was smirking now, finally with the program, eyes glued to Smith's mouth as the younger boy purposefully tongued the ring in his lip. "Private showers, too, I'm guessing?"

"Of course," Zach assured in a breathy whisper, grinning at the reminder, his face so close to Harry's now they were practically breathing the same air. He waited until their lips were a scant inch apart, then glanced coyly down at his watch and shrugged apologetically. "But if I don't get going, I'll be late for class. Maybe next time," the tempting boy lured with a fleeting kiss to Potter's cheek. Then, with a satisfied smile, he turned on his heel and walked away.

At that little display of teasing, Potter laughed outright, and Draco gaped in affront when the raven pushed the tray and empty can into his arms and gave to chase, catching up to the laughing boy in a matter of seconds and caging the Junior between his arms and the wall behind him. Draco only had time to hear the Smith ask what Potter as doing later that night before a gasp rang out from beside him.

"Mr Malfoy, what do you have there?" came the demanding voice of McGonnagal from Draco's right, sounding alarmed. Draco started in surprise, looking down at what he was holding in horror as if he didn't already know.

--

_Sprawled out on his back at the very top of the bleachers adjacent the football field, Harry exhaled a lungful of smoke. He was completely bare from the waist up, his T-shirt pillowed underneath his head. It was his break hour and this was how he chose to spend it; sunbathing._

_"Should you be smoking?"_

_Harry rolled his head to the side, and lo and behold, it was Cedric Diggory in all his quarterback, straight-A-student glory. He wasn't surprised; Cedric had taken to popping up out of nowhere and starting up random conversations with him. So far, disincluding Harry's gossiper-recruit preconception, the other boy had turned out to be exactly what he thought he'd be; the very picture of teenage perfection. Harry suspected Cedric had a do-gooder, talk-to-the-maverick quota to fill brought on by that never-ending altruism he seemed to possess._

_"Should you be skipping football practice?" Harry countered as the other boy took a seat on the beam below him._

_"You know, I heard somewhere that smoking is a manifestation of a subconscious desire to commit suicide," Cedric told him, then chuckled at Harry's gaping expression and shrugged. "My mom's a psychiatrist, dad's an oncologist. They teamed up in the anti-smoking speech."_

_Harry flicked the butt of his cigarette over the side of the bleachers, reajusting his T-shirt-pillow, folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes against the sun. "If both your parents are doctors, what the hell are you doing in public school?"_

_Cedric paused, and Harry heard a barely audible sigh. "Their way of trying to fix me, I guess."_

_Harry wasn't about to ask what that was supposed to mean, but even if he was, that was when the coach, an ornery, middle-aged man with high blood pressure, yelled up at them._

_"Diggory! Get your ass back on the field!"_

_"Sorry, Coach!" Cedric called back, like the good boy he was, then turned back to Harry with a teasing grin. "Well, us productive members of society have to get back to the swing of things. Can't just laze around all day working on our tans."_

_"Oh, Cedric, you know I'm no good at goodbyes," Harry mocked, then snorted. "I might lack the motivation, but if I couldn't beat a pretty boy at football then I'd have to schedule an appointment with _both_ your folks."_

_Cedric laughed again, bright and sunny and perfect. "We're having a barbecue Saturday," he announced as he stood up. "Nothing fancy, just a belated welcome-to-the-neighborhood kind of thing. My dad's a huge football fanatic, got into college on a scholarship even, and with that many people coming, he'll probably get us to team up and play some. And I was wondering, I mean, if you're not doing anything-"_

_Watching the boy fumble in amusement, Harry couldn't resist. "Are you asking me out?"_

_Grey eyes nearly popped out of the other boy's head in alarm, and he waved his hands around uselessly, flushing and shaking his head. "What!? No, I'm not - I-I mean, I wasn't-" He stopped himself when he saw that Harry was trying his hardest not to laugh. "You're an ass," Cedric exclaimed in the aftershock, his arms crossed in a sulk, and Harry laughed harder because he was pretty sure that was the first time Cedric had ever cursed in his life._

_"You were asking for it," Harry smirked, then quirked an eyebrow at the brunette. "Fifty bucks says my team'll win."_

_Cedric smiled sheepishly, and Harry could see the gray-eyed boy struggle with his moral code and upbringing that were telling him gambling was wrong and he shouldn't do it. "What do you play?"_

_"Runningback, mostly."_

_After another moment of internal, moral debate, Cedric nodded hesitantly, his eyes showing an excitement that only children got when they did something bad, but didn't get caught. This was foreshadowing if Harry'd ever seen it._

_"Deal."_

--

"C'mon, Draco, I said I'm sorry," a defeated and repentant voice tried to wheedle.

The reply was mocking and close to, but not quite, angry. "Stop talking, Potter. I swear, you are one grammatical error away from having your eyes clawed out."

At that, tired green eyes rolled heavenward. Someone had used that threat on him once before, but that had been a casino-frequenting, menopause-afflicted woman with two-inch-long acrylic nails and a temperament to match Snapes', not a pale rich boy with perfectly manicured - sometimes bitten, but no less harmless - nails and a motive.

"I don't know why you're so mad. It's not that serious."

The next statement was just this side of vocal with its restrained rancor. "I'm going to get expelled because _you_ think with the wrong head."

"Now you're exaggerating," Harry accused, not bothering to protest, because when it came to Zach, he often did think with the wrong head. It was one of the reasons he liked boys in the first place; they teased a lot less often than girls. Usually.

When Draco decided that stubbornly ignoring the raven was more preferable to continuing to raise his blood-pressure, Harry decided to give up for the moment. He sat back in his seat and pulled out his iPod, ready to zone out, but Draco snatched it away from him with a don't-you-even-think-about-it glare, daring him to object because how dare he think he can find any enjoyment in this when Draco, the innocent bystander, was clearly suffering.

Sarcasm aside, Harry knew he was in hot water with the blond, so instead of defining his ownership of the device, Harry just huffed and sat back in his seat, looking around the waiting room he never even knew existed, then to the occupied seat next to his and the strange-looking girl who was sitting there, staring off into space.

"Hi," Harry said, glancing up at the ceiling with a confused expression, wondering what the girl was looking at.

"Hello," the girl replied, not taking her eyes of the ceiling. "It's going to snow tonight," was the profound diagnosis it supplied her with, though she might've just been thinking out loud, and with a satisfied nod at the ceiling she went to gathering random strands of her blond hair and begining to braid it.

Watching as Potter gave her a look before looking back at the roof in confusion, looking for a clue to how she could possibly know that, Draco sighed in exasperation, rolled his eyes at Luna and retorted, "Did your Book of Shadows tell you that?"

The girl shook her head dazedly, either not hearing Draco's sarcasm or ignoring it. "No."

Draco sighed again, this time in aggravation. "Merlin has been having record highs for months," he said, matter-of-fact. "It is not going to snow."

There was silence for a moment.

"What's a Book of Shadows?"

"Don't talk to her, Potter."

Harry turned his head to Draco with a frown. "Why not?"

"Because Loony Lovegood is a witch," Draco warned him, all-knowing and not caring if he sounded silly or if the girl could hear him. "And she's insane. In second year, during an Agriculture class I was forced against my will to take with her, she pointed to the grass and told me to drink it," he told the raven, making Harry laugh slightly at how insulted the blond sounded at having been told to drink grass.

"You were coughing," Luna explained. "Agrimony is good for coughs."

"Like Herbalism?" Harry asked, thinking he understood and enlightened when the blond girl nodded to the window in vague agreement. "I'm Harry," he told her, offering a slight smile.

"Fine, don't listen to me," Draco said, giving up. "I've only been going to this school for five years, what would I know?"

"I know," the blond-haired girl stated, though she still didn't look at him.

"...I like your earrings," Harry tried again. Her earrings were actually neon-colored feathers Harry was sure he'd seen being used as arts and crafts on earring hooks, but they were bright and pretty in a way. He noticed how strangely the girl was dressed; wearing a standard Hogwarts' uniform but with little pieces of random things thrown in. Her hair was stringy and blond, random braids here and there. She was pretty, he supposed, in an unconventional sort of way.

"Thank you," Luna smiled a little, blithely. "They like you, too."

Draco shook his head, hoping Lovegood's craziness wasn't contagious. Deciding to let Potter learn for himself, he started scrolling through Potter's play-lists and came across one that read 'Multilingualism' that he knew better than to wonder about, as it would surely spawn more questions than answers and subsequently fuel the never-ending mystery that was Harry Potter, but frowned at in curiosity nevertheless.

Harry chuckled, thinking the girl was joking. "What are you in for?"

Luna finally brought her eyes down from the window and blinked dazedly at Harry, as if just noticing his presence.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, at least on the raven's part, Harry reiterated, "I mean, are you in trouble or-?"

"Oh," Luna nodded, then shook her head. "No, I'm here to tell Dumbledore to stop feeding the squid. He'll become a threat to the students here if he keeps coming in contact with humans," she explained.

Harry raised a brow, but had to smile. "That sounds like alligators," he thought aloud.

Luna gave him a weird look. "Don't be silly," she told him almost reproachfully. "Why would there be alligators at the school?"

Bemused, Harry sank back in his seat and let the girl get back to... whatever she was doing. Beside him, Draco's shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter at Harry's expense, and Harry elbowed him disapprovingly before pucking one of the ear-buds from Draco's ear and putting it in his own. He smiled at Draco's confused look when the first song started and sung along softly to a song he knew by heart. In German. (1)

"Okay, why do you speak German?" Draco asked grudgingly, proving himself right about his curiosity only leading to more curiosity. He added multilingualism to the list of the many mysterious things he knew about Potter, a list now endless among many other odd talents.

"Because music is beautiful in every country," Harry responded, chuckling when Draco made a face at how sappy that sounded. He shrugged. "I don't like limiting myself to one thing when there's so much more out there I could be missing out on," he tried to explain, knowing it sounded inadequate. He shrugged again. "I don't know, I'm just good with languages. Well, except French," he amended before Draco had the chance to discredit him. "Which explains why I'm failing it. Sirius says it's because I'm such a hopeless non-romantic."

"Vous devez être bons avec votre langue," Draco purred slyly, in perfect French, knowing he'd never had the courage to say it in English. (2)

"Sexy," Harry commented, then grinned, "even though I have no idea what you just said."

Draco just smirked, and it was a weird feeling, he decided, weird and oddly comforting, how they could continue like nothing had changed, like Draco hadn't blown up at the raven just yesterday and accused him of being a liar, like all was forgiven, because - and as difficult as this was for him to admit, even to himself - he couldn't stay away from Potter. He wished he could, but he honestly didn't want to. Being with Potter like this, he could forget anything else existed; his father, Smith, the fact that he was ultimately using Potter despite the fact that it was killing both of them.

Draco knew how guilt worked. Nobody ever apologized to make the other person feel better, they apologized to feel less guilty, and Draco was certainly no exception to that. Potter wasn't mad at him, he knew that, but it didn't make it better and ignoring it could only make it worse.

The words were on the tip of his tongue, and he parted his lips to speak, but then the sound of Potter's voice reached his ears in the soft melody of what he knew was a love song, his voice dropping gracefully as the chorus started, dancing around the actual singer's but enticingly never falling into sync, and Draco couldn't bring himself to interrupt this fleeting moment of serenity.

Potter and music went hand in hand, Draco had learned not too long after meeting him, and it was everything the raven was. It was expressive, passionate, and so elusive not many people could grasp or understand it but everyone was drawn to it nevertheless. Draco was awed slightly at how essential music was to Potter. It was a part of him, and the proof was written on the raven's forearm in another language Draco didn't understand, scribbled cords from when the raven came up with something he liked and didn't have any paper on him at the time.

A lot of people listened to music that suited their mood, but not Potter. Like an emotional leech, Potter took in notes like he was tasting it, feeding on it and embodying it and really feeling it, and Draco understood how a song like this one could soothe the raven and finally get him to relax, even though he didn't understand the words.

The raven's eyes were closed lightly, thick, black lashes fanned against sun-kissed flesh, his head tilted back on the wall behind him, and Draco was helpless to do anything but stare. He'd heard the raven sing before, onstage even, and he always sounded good, having one of those unmistakeable, melodious voices that easily set him apart, but now was different. He was absorbed completely in the song and it made his voice sound incredible, personal and intimate, despite the roughness from sleep deprivation, and Draco suddenly found himself agreeing with Potter, because he was sure the raven could make even a death sentence sound beautiful.

Someone cleared their throat in the doorway, and Draco and Harry brought their attentions back to the situation at hand.

--

_Struts was a bar smack-dab in the middle of Lexus Avenue, the 'Entertainment District' of Madison Valley. This was the place all the college kids and children of the night went to wind-down after a night of kegging and dance floor orgies. Out of all the shady, run-down places Harry'd grown used to frequenting, Struts was his favorite. Not because it had pool tables and not because it had live music. No, while those definitely added to the establishments appeal, the bartender was Harry's only reason for being there. That and free drinks._

_"Leg Spreader."_

_"Half spiced rum, half coconut rum, half Peach Schnapps and a splash of pineapple juice."_

_"A Piece of Ass."_

_A pause. "Half almond liqueur, three quarters Southern Comfort and a splash of sour mix. Next?"_

_"Blow job."_

_A sigh. "Harry..."_

_"What? That's what it's called."_

_"I know your holding back, Harry, but if you're gonna help me, can choose the ones that aren't completely perverted just once in a while?"_

_After Cedric had gotten caught sneaking out for the third time, all of which to meet Harry, his parents had taken away his allowance. Needing money, the brunette decided to get a job, and with the help of the fake ID Harry'd given him, managed to get work under-the-table at the one place he knew Harry frequented regularly._

_Cedric had never tasted alcohol before meeting Harry, and now he was serving it to patrons on a nightly basis just for the sake of spending more time with the raven, sitting with him drink for drink._

--

Harry was - well, 'grumpy' didn't quite cover it exactly. Combining an energy drink that had a consistent history of making its consumers crash some time after consumption with a naturally fast metabolism and an empty stomach had consequences of which Harry was currently suffering.

"It's not that I don't understand what you were trying to do," the Headmaster told them after he allowed Harry and Draco to explain. Well, Harry explained, Draco pretty much just went over how he had absolutely nothing to do with it. "And I think it's very commendable, I do, but I simply cannot allow the alliance to promote sex at this Academy, no matter how clever the idea was."

"Sex doesn't need to be promoted," Harry argued, like it should be common knowlegde. He was running out of patience. "And that wasn't what we were trying to do."

"You're trying to make this worse, aren't you?" Draco groaned from the chair beside him.

"If we were promoting sex," Harry continued, tapping restlessly on the arm of his chair, "we would've been handing out porn."

"Potter!" Draco exclaimed as he gave the raven's shoulder a hard shove, certain now that the raven was trying to provoke punishment and indignant that Potter would use the word 'we' after he'd just explained in detail how he'd had nothing to do with it. As it was, Dumbledore only chuckled quietly.

"I just don't see why we should get in trouble for this," Harry said, not ready to accept a punishment he didn't deserve. Then, a thought occured to him and he looked at Dumbledore in vague suspicion. "Wait. Is it sex in general that there's a problem with... or is it just _gay_ sex?"

Annoyance suddenly gone, Draco looked at the Headmaster in anticipation of the answer. He'd never thought of that prospect before Potter brought it up.

Dumbledore raised his brows at Harry in surprise. Then, after a moment of contemplation, he calmly reached forward on his desk and turned a picture frame around to face both of the students, honestly hoping this wouldn't be made an issue.

Harry didn't understand. It was just a photo of Dumbledore and some guy holding hands. (3)

Oh.

"Oh," Harry stated sheepishly, sinking further down into his seat. "Sorry."

"No worries, my boy," the Headmaster smiled kindly at both Harry and Draco, who was staring at Dumbledore with something like surprise and admirmation.

Draco did hold some amount of regard for Dumbledore before, but now, Draco could honestly say he respected the man, and for the first time, Draco noticed the Headmaster's wedding band. He had some serious courage, Draco thought, telling a student he'd only known for a couple months and another who, had Draco known Dumbledore was gay last year when he'd been trying so hard to cover the fact that he himself was, probably would have outed him to the entire school.

"As this predictament is unpresented, the rule book doesn't have anything to say against it, so I'm willing to let you both off with a warning. However, if the the Gay/Straight Allience starts to become inappropriate, I'll have to take disiplinary action. If you wanted to start a program to encourage safe sex, I would have nothing to say against it. In fact, I think it's been an awfully long time in coming. I could bring the issue up with the school board, even, if you think it's a good idea."

"I think it's a great idea, but-"

"Wonderful. I'll bring it to the school board's attention immediately and keep you updated."

"Great," Draco stated dispassionately. "Does that mean we can leave?"

"Actually, I've been meaning to speak with you, Harry," the Headmaster told the raven, then looked to the blond. "So, Draco, if you'd excuse us."

Draco glanced between them, knowing this had to be about the _Daily Profit's _article. He obediently went to stand, but that was when Potter decided to grip the back of his neck, both gentle and firm, forcing him to stay seated. Draco looked at him in askance, surprised and perplexed at the somewhat challenging look the raven was sending the Headmaster, the muscles in his neck and shoulders tense under Potter's touch and still braced to stand. Something about the raven touching his neck the way he was made Draco's stomach flip. He wasn't sure why exactly, but the action struck him as odd. Dumbledore thought so, too, apparently, because he was staring at the raven's hand in something like concern.

"I'm not hiding anything," Harry said tersely, his voice steely and determined. He realized he was acting like a dog with a bone when he noticed Dumbledore's eyes were watching his hand, but his mind didn't linger on it. He had a point to make. "Draco can stay."

"Very well," Dumbledore agreed with some hesitation after a moment, then cleared his throat.

He'd spoken to Sirius, Dumbledore had informed him, and he'd been entirely aware of Harry's situation before Harry had arrived, thus not worried or particularly surprised by it. Parents had been calling the school since Monday, it turned out, wanting to pull their children out of school unless Dumbledore kicked Harry out. They were idle threats, of course, because nobody would actually take their kids from the legendary Hogwarts Academy after they went through all the trouble getting them in based on nothing but rumors, but the Headmaster still felt the need to quell their fears, so he was sending a letter to all the parents to ensure them that their children were indeed safe and that the rumors were false.

After that, he wanted to know how the raven was doing, which was a very subtle way of asking how far down the bottom actually was and if Harry had hit it yet. After the raven's breakdown at dinner Monday in the Great Hall, nobody could blame him for inquiring about Harry's mental health, not even Harry.

"You'd have to ask my therapist, sir," Harry replied resentfully, leaning back in his seat.

"She isn't a therapist, Harry, and I am sorry to put you through this, but it's my responsibility as Headmaster to ensure all my students are kept in good health."

"I'm not crazy," Harry informed, because over the past year or so, nobody, himself included lately, seemed to know that for certain.

"I didn't say you were," Dumbledore replied quickly, not wanting to offend the boy. "But your godfather and I both agree that in light of your unwillingness to talk to anyone you might be able to come to peace with some of the problems you've been having if we provide you with a nonthreatening, competent professional that specializes in knowing how to break down your defences without pushing you out of your comfort zone."

Harry was silent for a moment, incredulity having got his tongue. He was tempted to look behind him to check for a teleprompter. To him, and Draco if the severely unimpressed look the blond was fixing the Headmaster with was anything to go by, Dumbledore sounded like he'd taken a weekend course on child psychology at a community college. And failed.

"You have met this 'nonthreatening, competent professional, haven't you, Headmaster?"

"I know her methods may seem a bit unorthodox," Dumbledore relented, "but I assure you she is very goal-oriented. Her track record is flawless; not one patient has had to be put on medication nor have they had to stay with her for more than a few months."

"Oh, I don't doubt that," Harry snorted, then raised a sarcastically-inquisitive eyebrow. "Did they thank her for her help in their suicide notes?"

Dumbledore sighed at the raven's stubborn streak. "Just give it some time, Harry. She may surprise you." He stood, motioning Harry and Draco to as well and heading for the door. "Now, unless there's anything else you'd wish to speak with me about, I believe I've taken up enough of your time. Professor McGonnagal will write you both excuses for being tardy."

Harry, looking aggravated with the obvious dismissal, stormed out without a word to the Headmaster, but Draco lingered. He faced Dumbledore with an uncertain expression, thinking of a way to ask what he wanted to know without making it seemed like he was particularly interested.

He'd sat through that entire conversation without so much as a word, uncomfortable and all too aware of Potter's hand on the back of his chair. He knew what Potter was trying to do, of course, the gesture having about as much subtlety as waving an olive branch in his face, and Draco did appreciate the fact that Potter had apparently taken his words to heart, as there was some truth in them, but did Potter have to be quite so blunt about getting his message across? Granted, Draco hadn't known the raven was being forced into anger management. That certainly came as a surprise, and he was able to piece it all together from there. How Potter reacted at dinner Monday and the days following, these anger management sessions, along with everything else, had to be taking their toll on the raven.

"Draco?" the Headmaster spoke up when the blond boy didn't make a moved to leave, a bit surprised that Draco Malfoy of all people would come to him with what he suspected was a personal issue. "Is there something you wanted to talk about?"

"Yes, actually," Draco fore-stalled, buying time to approach the subject. He continued hesitantly. "Since I've been living in the dorms, I've noticed that, um - I've noticed something most of my roommates seem to have in common, sir..."

Dumbledore smiled widely, because it was just darling how Draco didn't include himself in having that 'something'. He quirked a jovial eyebrow. "Tolerance?"

"Something like that," Draco nodded, a smile warming his face, because, no, he wasn't fooling anybody.

The Headmaster smiled back at him, marveling at the changes the young Malfoy had made in no more than two months. "Over the years, great many as they may be, I've come to find that living in a world where almost everyone seems to be against you, allowing yourself to be alone is quite possibly the worst mistake one can make. Tolerance is exactly what your roommates all have in common. Tolerance and acceptance and a great many other positive attributes that you possess as well." A proud glint in his world-weary eyes, he gave the blond a meaningful look. "There is strength in numbers, my boy, even when no one is keeping count."

Later that day, the dormitory was practically desolate. Since Hogwarts was a year-round boarding school, the Headmaster couldn't exactly file away it's students during all non-learning hours, though it would be less of handful. It was late evening when the halls started to become vacant and the students slowly wondered off the grounds, having been checked out and free to go were they pleased as long as they were back by curfew or heading into the city in groups on Hogwarts buses with designated chaperones heading to Merlin's historical museum.

Draco was looking forward to the temporary privacy. Every roommate that was allowed to leave the school had done so and the one that wasn't, Draco was fairly certain Potter had other plans, if Smith's inquiry about what the raven was doing later was anything to go by. He didn't bother with turning on any lights as he was headed to the bathroom anyway, hoping a nice, long, hot shower would quell his bitterness.

"I wanted to be a cop when I was little," came Potter's unmistakable voice from across the room, the windowsill above his bed.

Predictively, Draco started, though he really should've been used to Potter appearing out of absolutely nowhere by now. He sighed in exasperation when he saw Potter perched comfortably next to the open window and wrapped snugly in an over-sized white hoodie, his concentration on the guitar in his lap, though the instrument wasn't making a sound.

Draco had his doubts about the direction of this conversation, as he was sure childhood dreams weren't what the raven wanted to talk about. Sure Potter would get to his point eventually, Draco decided to just go with it.

"You?" he voiced in disbelief as he made his way over on sock-clad feet. Considering Potter's hero-complex, it shouldn't be so surprising, but the raven wasn't very good at dealing with authority figures.

"Yeah," the raven chuckled, holding a hand out to the blond. Draco took it, using it as leverage to help him up to take a seat on windowsill opposite Potter. "But that was before I ever met one."

Draco's arms wrapped around himself at the cold seeping in through the open window. He was about to say something about it, tell Potter he didn't want hypothermia, but then he noticed what Potter was doing, cutting open a cigar with a pocket knife, a pile of seeds and stems already discarded next to a neat little row of green herb on the back of the guitar on Potter's lap.

"Is that...?" Draco trailed off, but the question got across anyway. Was that what they recovered from Nott's room?

Harry shook his head in the negative. "I flushed that shit. I don't take anything from people I don't know. I smoke a blunt with this girl I met at a friends place, once, sent me on the worst trip ever. Turned out she rolled it with coke and either forgot or just didn't say anything."

"Nice little anecdote there, Potter," Draco commented with equal parts incredulity and sarcasm. "So, does this mean I was right when I inquired about your history of drug abuse?"

"I'm not a drug dealer, if that's what you mean," Harry informed the blond with a ironic smirk, restraining the urge to roll his eyes. "And I don't fuck with the hard shit, so no. That was just your twisted way of showing you care, and this is mostly just to help me sleep."

There was a silence between them for a long moment, and Harry was just waiting for Draco to say something sarcastic like 'What, no bong?' or something to that extent. As the atmosphere around them turned sombre, almost awkwardly so, Harry fished the lighter he'd stolen from Draco's desk drawer out from his hoodie's kangaroo pocket and lit up his expertly rolled - if not incredibly ghetto - blunt, the green tip blazing a vibrant orange as he took several small, consecutive hits. He concentrated on the burn in his chest and the unmistakable, wonderful smell of the herb's smoke and the burning blueberry cigarillo paper as it drifted out the opened window. These windows never opened very far, but it was enough to keep the room from filling with smoke and a better alternative than freezing his ass off outside, despite the risk of getting caught.

He took his time with it, taking a few more hits before, almost out of reflex, Harry went to pass it to the right, then realized a second later who it was on his right and pulled it back, giving Draco a half questioning, half disapproving look.

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm not a child, Potter, nor am I so innocent to have never smoked it before -and don't you give me that disapproving look when you're the one smoking it at this very moment."

Harry wasn't denying that it was hypocritical. Yes, if Draco was anyone else right then, he wouldn't have hesitated to get them high (unless it was their first time, then it would be a resolute no), but Draco wasn't just anyone. The blond should consider it favoritism, if anything. Sure, Harry considered marijuana less harmful than cigarettes, but that didn't change the fact that he hated seeing Draco smoke. Though he supposed it was better that Draco smoke with him in a "controlled environment", as Remus called it, than with anyone and anywhere else Harry could think of.

Knowing the blond was only doing it to go against him and that he'd never hear the end of it otherwise, he sighed and grudgingly passed it, watching as Draco brought the blunt to his lips, looking back at him, challenging and deviant. He inhaled the way he would a cigarette and immediately exploded in a fit of wheezing coughs.

Honestly, Draco had smoked weed before, but that was only one or two hits at his birthday party the year before. Normally, if he was pressured into doing anything he wasn't sure he wanted to do, he'd make it and anyone doing it sound stupid and below him, but at the time, he had a lapful of Pansy, a headful of doubts, and a birthday wish to be anywhere else. He remembered thinking how it wasn't all it was cracked up to be, as he hardly felt anything from it.

Harry didn't laugh, unable to feel anything more than sorry and a little smug when Draco's eyes teared up and he continued to swallow back coughs. He scooted closer and was rubbing the blonde's back up and down in soothing motions, but the gesture was interpreted as condesending and his hand got slapped. "Ow! Hey, it's not my fault!"

"No, but you were looking way too self-righteous. Why couldn't you have laughed like any normal person?"

"Because I didn't want you smoking to begin with," Harry easily reminded, taking the blunt back. "You're such a baby. Here," he said before putting the lit end in his mouth carefully and grabbing the back of Draco's neck, pulling him forward.

Draco only had a second to register just what the hell Potter thought he was doing before the raven's lips were just barely touching his own, and when it hit him, eyes wide as dinner plates and heartbeat tripping over itself in his chest, he struggled against all odds not to look like a complete moron as the raven blew a steady stream of smoke into his mouth. Despite the lump in his throat, Draco managed a slow inhale, and after fighting against the urge to let his eyes close, he was a bit surprised when his lungs didn't reject the smoke. Instead of the choking burn he felt before, this time it went into his lungs like nothing but a warm pocket of air. He tried his best not to think of the word kiss, but couldn't ignore the way Potter's lips lingered on his own.

Potter backed away after a moment, taking the blunt from his mouth, but his hand didn't leave the back of Draco's neck, thumb tracing in a circular motion behind the blonde's ear as he took another hit. They were quiet for a while after that, passing the blunt back and forth now that Draco had gotten a hang of it and flicking it out the window when it was reduced to nothing but a little brown roach.

The night trailed on in a haze, filled with random conversation and even more random, senseless laughter as the drug took its effect. Somehow, during the time it took for the raven to try to explain how people were like money, they'd ended up down on Potter's bed, _"Strawberry Fields"_ playing lazily on the guitar cradled in the raven's lap, because he said he was feeling cliché, the words barely a murmur, and Draco briefly wondered just how many songs Potter knew by heart before the thought was lost in marijuana-induced oblivion. (4)

"Is this really you?" Draco asked, referring to the photograph he'd recovered from Potter's bedside table. "You were such a dork," the blond laughed, the image of a younger Potter in big, round, ugly glasses striking him as unbearably funny.

Harry laughed, too, more from the sight of Draco laughing so freely than anything the blond said, allowing what he was playing to drift into whatever his fingers decided.

"And this..." Draco trailed off, tapping the other boys image behind the glass, no longer laughing as he took in the handsome features of the smiling boy next to Potter in the picture. "This is him?"

The music stopped playing abruptly, and Potter was suddenly right beside him, taking the picture carefully from Draco and returning it to it's home on his bedside table.

"Cedric, yeah," Harry answered, closed off all of a sudden. Now that it was in his mind he knew it wouldn't leave. Now was as good a time as any though, he supposed, and sighed.

"You were right, by the way," Harry told the blond, who was staring at him with a curious interest. "About me not letting anyone in."

Shaking his head, Draco dropped his gaze. "No, I wasn't," he objected solemnly, hugging the pillow in his lap. "Nobody can blame you for not wanting to talk about that. I shouldn't have said anything-"

"I'll glad you did," Harry cut in, and he marveled how silver Draco's eyes looked in moonlight as the other boy looked up at him. He tried for a smile. "But I think you know me better than you think you do."

An bemused smile played on Draco's lips in response, and he quirked a doubtful eyebrow. "How do you figure?"

"You knew my favorite color's red."

"It's called observational skills, Potter," Draco responded, because he wasn't capable of or willing to explain how he knew that.

"It doesn't matter," Harry shrugged, laying his guitar aside and leaning back on his headboard with a wry grin. The mood was amiable for a moment, the both of them exchanging meaningless smiles before something occurred to Harry and the moment disappeared. It would figure, he thought, that the only time he felt comfortable enough to talk about Cedric would be when he was high.

"Do you remember that night I brought you to Eighth & Rail?"

Draco frowned at how random that question seemed. "I think I'd have to be an amnesiac to have forgotten already."

"Yeah, well, remember what I said? I said I'd tell you what happened, but then _The Profit_ started-"

"Consider it penance, Potter," Draco cut in, not because he didn't want to know, because he almost desperately did, but after everything the raven had been going through lately, Potter didn't need to be put through this. "You don't have to-"

"I want to," Potter interrupted, looking at him with the most earnest expression Draco couldn't help but agree.

And Harry told him everything. Hours into the night, Harry told the blond everything he could think of, even the most obscure experience about his past. He spoke of his miserable life at the Dursleys', his covetous time spent with Sirius and Remus, but more than anything, he spoke of his relationship with Cedric, and if Draco was expecting a tearful breakdown, he was sorely disappointed, because surprisingly, Harry was smiling and laughing throughout most of his story.

It felt wonderful, Harry decided, to talk of Cedric this way. This was the first time he'd ever spoken to someone about Cedric, and as he continued with the story, he realized he'd been wrong before. He honestly didn't think it would, but talking about it actually was helping, he could feel it. Focusing on the good memories and sharing them instead of brooding over the bad ones was nothing if not uplifting. He hadn't, however, reached the bad part yet, and as that part of the story approached, closer and closer, his smile started fading.

"And you ran away with him?" Draco urged, absorbed completely in the fantastic story of Potter's past. At this part of the story, Cedric's parents had found out about their relationship and threatened to send Cedric away, forbidding him from ever seeing Potter again, but instead of obeying his parents like the "good boy" he was before he met Potter, he showed up at raven's window in the middle of the night, asking the raven to run away with him. Draco'd never one for romances, but this story was like a book too enthralling to put down and had more twists and turns than an M Night Shyamalan film.

Harry nodded, smiling at Draco's enthusiasm, then shrugged. "He asked me to, so I did, and it wasn't like I had anything in Surrey but him anyway."

"But where did you go?" Draco questioned. "You didn't have any money then, did you?"

"Not much, no," Harry answered, and he supposed he should be irked at Draco for interrupting as often as he was, but he wasn't; the blonde's questions only served to urge him to continue if anything. "Turned out, though, Cedric had stolen several of his father's credit cards, and since we were never in the same place for more than a few days, nobody could track us down. It wasn't until we made it all the way to 'Vegas did they finally catch up to us."

"His parents?"

"The police," Harry corrected grimly, passing the Toblerone they'd been sharing. "It was only a matter of time, really, but I never expected it to end the way it did."

Draco frowned. "Enough with the prologue already, Potter. Get on with it."

Harry laughed at the blonde's pushiness and did as told. "Well, we'd been spending a lot of time in the casino in our hotel, and Cedric, being the smart one, mostly just stuck with the slot machines, but I, being the risk-taker I was, had my go at the Black Jack tables. While Cedric was already fast asleep upstairs in our room that night, I was downstairs having a steamy affair with Lady Luck."

"And Cedric was okay with this?" Draco smirked, and Potter grinned at him in return.

"Well, we weren't exactly monogamous," Harry supplied, then chuckled when Draco wrinkled his nose. "Anyway, I ended up winning the grand total of eleven _thousand_dollars that night," Harry said at length, then nodded at Draco's look of disbelief. "I didn't get to keep it, though, because after they accused me of counting cards, they took a second look at my fake ID and called the cops. Long story short, Cedric and I'd been reported as runaways and they called his father when he came up to get me. His parents, it turned out, had already been on their way there, so while they dragged him home, I had to stay two days in a holding cell until I could get Sirius and Remus to come get me. The police report wasn't in the _Daily Profit_?" Harry asked as it occurred to him, mildly surprised when Draco shook his head no.

"Well, when I got back home, I hardly ever saw Cedric. His mom and dad put him back in private school and had him on such a tight leash he wasn't even allowed to leave the house without supervision. That didn't stop us, though, because he snuck out whenever he got the chance."

Harry hesitated to continue, this being the part he'd been putting off for an hour, the punchline to a joke nobody ever thought was funny. "We, uh. We were worse than ever after that, and Cedric really couldn't take it, he was going through hell trying to be with me, so I..."

"You, what?" Draco pressed gently when the raven trailed off.

Harry cleared his throat. "I broke up with him," he said, and it came out steady, like a Farris-wheel held together by rubber bands and bubblegum was steady. "And maybe it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't, but- Anyway, I wanted him to go back to the way he was before I came along and fucked him up. It didn't work out that way, though. He, um," Harry gave a shaky laugh, "He wrote me a poem. Can you believe it? I break his heart and he writes me a _poem_," he laughed, and to Draco, it sounded a bit hysterical.

"Potter," the blond voiced, but didn't have anything to say.

Harry smiled at him, a smile that was so fraudulent it spoke absolutely nothing of his bitterness and regret but still couldn't conceal his sorrow.

"I was at a party a friend of mine was throwing at this motel, drunk off my ass, when Cedric showed up in a cab. He wasn't looking for me, more like trying to prove he didn't need me, but if I was drunk, Cedric was seconds away from alcohol poisoning. He had the shalet glowing when I found him, smoking it like a regular fucking chicken-head. We got into a fight after that and I was gonna leave, but that was when Sirius showed up. (5)

The Marauders had a show close by and Sirius wanted to surprise me, but he didn't expect to find me at the motel they were staying the night at. He took one look at me and knew how fucked up I was. He wasn't about to let me leave like I was planning to, and somehow, him, Peter and the rest of the Marauders wound up at the party I started off at.

The next time I saw Cedric that night, he was in the bathroom, puking his brains out, and I helped him back to the room Sirius was staying in to sleep it off. He was half-conscious when he kissed me, but before I left, he looked right at me and said... 'You're the worst thing that's ever happened to me.'

That was the last thing he ever said to me," Harry said as if just realizing it, and by now, Draco really didn't want him to continue. What had started as an exciting teenage romance was now making Potter look numb, a completely unfeeling creature and empty in a way that made Draco's breathing hitch in his throat.

Trembling, he reached out and grasped Potter's hand, more for his comfort than Potter's, though he knew the raven needed it more than he did. Potter looked down at their hands like he didn't recognize them, then up to Draco's wide, glossy eyes, and with a sudden guilty look, he pulled the blond closer, into his arms.

Draco heart leapt in his chest, because after looking so out of reach, so incredibly lost, Potter's face finally, finally showed some emotion, only it had nothing at all to do with the horrible ordeal the raven was recounting, but instead, it was for Draco. Concern.

How the hell could Potter think of _him_ at a time like this?

"I can stop," Harry offered into blond silk, almost determined to do so if it meant Draco would stop shaking, but the blond shook his head, silently getting the message across that, no, he didn't want Harry to stop on his account. "Are you sure?" the raven asked, just in case, and Draco nodded, his hands fisted into the fabric of the raven's comforting hoodie.

"I, uh. I woke up outside in a pool chair the next morning..."

--

_"Ced, wake up," Harry croaked as he entered the room, a hangover splitting his skull open, before he noticed that the brunette wasn't where he left him. Instead, Cedric was on the floor, and Harry figured he must've fallen out of bed sometime during the night before he noticed the half-empty bottle of Jim Beam sitting on the dresser and changed his hypothesis, figuring someone must've come in with it after he'd left last night._

_Shrugging mentally and ignoring his exasperation, he snatched the bottle up and took a swig, hoping the urban myth that said a bit of alcohol when you wake up cured hangovers was correct. Kicking softly at the brunette's side, Harry lit up a cigarette._

_"C'mon, get up. I'll give you a lift home. If we hurry I might get you there before your parents wake up and find out you're gone," Harry told him, receiving less than nothing in response._

_Harry frowned; Cedric was usually a very light sleeper. "Cedric! Wake the fuck up, we gotta-" Harry cut himself off and came to a confused halt when he realized Cedric's eyes were open, unmoving, and caught sight of the other boy's arm._

_It was blue._

_Losing grip on his cigarette, Harry dropped to his knees in front of the other boy. He immediately saw that the needle was still sticking out from the inside of the other boy's arm and plucked it out, cringing when the wound didn't bleed like it was supposed to, throwing the syringe somewhere behind him before moving on to the red cord that was wrapped around Cedric's arm, effectively cutting of his circulation._

_"Cedric," Harry sobbed, his vision beginning to blur, slapping the brunette as hard as he dared. "Cedric!" he screamed, shaking him._

_Two hours later, in the hospital waiting room, Harry couldn't take his eyes off the floor._

_"I'm sorry," the doctor said, and Cedric's mother wailed in agony, echoing throughout the hospital._

_Unnoticed, a corded string was tangled in grasping, shaking fingers._

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**Authors Note: **

(1) I had "Heilig" by Tokio Hotel in mind for this, the German (and more preferable) version of their song "Sacred." Beautiful song. I was going to use "Protège Moi" by Placebo, but it didn't fit for obvious reasons.

(2) "Vous devez être bons avec votre langue" means "You must be good with your tongue" in French. Forgive me if that's incorrect.

(3) Gellert Grindelwald. In my mind, if not in the series, Dumbledore got his man.

(4) "Strawberry Fields" by The Beatles or, a newer version, by Jim Sturgess.

(5) Some of you might not understand some of these terms, so here's a lesson on drug-lingo. Chicken - Crystal meth. Chickenhead - someone who does chicken. Shalet (pronounced shuh-lay; this might not be the correct spelling) - the pipe chickenheads smoke chicken from.

You guys have no clue how difficult this chapter was to write, not even considering the fact that's it's double the word count. Oh, and just in case some of you were confused, the italics are Harry's memories from different points in his life before Hogwarts, all in order. And for the record, I'm apologizing in advance for this chapter.

Please, please, please review! Tell me what you think. I want to know your favorite line or scene in this chapter.


	19. Resistance Is Futile

**Rating:** Mature.

**Warning: **Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness. Drug use.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any songs mentioned in this chapter.

**____________________________________________________________________________________________________________**

**Previously...**

With the help of a certain "sleep aid", Harry was able to let go of his secrets and tell Draco of his life before Hogwarts, an exciting teenage romance that inevitably caused Cedric Diggory's self-destruction.

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**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Nineteen**

**Resistance Is Futile**

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Harry continued with his narrative as if on autopilot, his fingers running idly through Draco's silky hair and down his back, petting the blonde thoughtlessly as though he were a house pet. By then, Draco was curled around him like a boa, his head pillowed in the juncture where Harry's neck met his shoulder, practically cradled in the raven's lap and more comfortable than he could ever remember being. Secure. Pampered in a way that felt like a guilty pleasure and appealed greatly to his hedonistic side.

Harry hadn't said more than two words to anybody up until the day of Cedric's funeral, hadn't eaten, hadn't slept, so of course this had to be the day the universe decided to punish him. That was when the cops showed up at the Dursleys', and after spending that entire day at the police station, going over and over his account of what happened until he was yelling it in frustration, they finally had to release him from questioning.

Being interrogated, while not the absolute _worst_experience of his life, nevertheless had to have ranked high up on the scale. Stuck for endless hours in a tiny room with interchangeable cops (actors when they had to be) who would do anything, say anything, ask absolutely _anything_, no matter how degrading or heartless, to get him to say what they wanted to hear and thought they knew for certain, without a doubt, that he was a murderer -or just really didn't care as long as they got the confession they were aiming for, it was definitely one of the most nerve-racking situations Harry'd ever been in. It was at the very end, when the police had no choice but to let him go, that they told him -whispering like it was to be kept a secret- why they knew he was the perpetrator.

Cedric had a phobia of needles. This was what made it impossible for anyone to suspect him of accidental overdose or suicide. Harry had known Cedric didn't like needles, but there was no way he could've known it was that serious. The former-quarterback couldn't possibly have shot himself up with the meth that was found in his system. Someone else obviously had to have done it for him, and since Harry was there the night it happened, since Harry was the closest person to him, since Harry's parents were dead and thus he absolutely had to be completely messed up and apparently looked exactly the type to take the rich, church-going son of two respectable doctors and turn him into a sexually active teenage drug user, the cops found Harry the most likely suspect.

Sirius probably would've been a suspect as well if he hadn't forced the man to leave with his entourage in tow. They were gone minutes before the paramedics arrived, emotionlessly loading Cedric onto the gurney from the polyester motel bedspread that Harry'd pulled him onto and into the ambulance like a limp mannequin instead of the corpse that he was. Sirius had wanted to stay, of course, but Harry had known even then, even in a trembling state of panic, that if Sirius stayed with him just to be with him, to be his shoulder to cry on, his moral support, his godfather would've been taken into questioning along with him. The fact that Sirius was there, which Harry allowed no one to know, coupled with the bogus drug charge he obtained from all those years ago, the same drug that killed Cedric, Sirius would've been back in jail for another crime he didn't commit. Hell would've had to freeze over before Harry let that happen again.

Sirius had come back the second after the smoke cleared, however, to see how Harry was holding up. Couldn't stay very long, though, because the cops were still sniffing around, asking questions and looking for clues they wouldn't find. Couldn't take Harry with him, either, because that would be as good as a confession after being told not to leave town.

And just like that, the story was over, and the ending was just the kind that Draco hated.

Now, sprawled across Harry's bed like they were tossed onto it and surrounded by candy wrappers from the package Draco's mother had sent him that the raven just happened to find exactly when the munchies started kicking in, they were just lying there. Harry, for his part, was exhausted, weed always having that kind of effect on him. Content to let his mind wander, his thoughts weren't centered on anything in particular. Draco, however, while just as groggy as the raven was, still had a lot on his mind.

Thinking over what he knew now and comparing it to what little he knew before, everything lined up and made close-to-perfect sense, especially the encounter they'd had with Peter Pettigrew the night before their lives gained public interest. Nevertheless, he still had some questions, the most relevant one on his lips, and he didn't have the self-control required at the moment not to ask.

"You-" Draco swallowed down the nervous lump in his throat, almost chickening out. "Did you love him?"

Normally, Draco wasn't the kind to use the word love. Oh sure, you could love your family and you could love your friends, but that wasn't what Draco was asking. 'Were you _in_love with him', is what Draco meant, in the romantic sense, and if it were anyone else, Blaise or Seamus or Dean, he would've scoffed at their use of the word. Love for most people was nothing more than disguised attraction, especially so for teenagers. But considering the fact that it was still torturing him over a year later, if Potter said yes, Draco would believe him.

The question was so out of the blue it managed to surprise Harry out of the heady, nostalgic fog his mind had been in, mostly from the fact that it was Draco asking. It just sounded so foreign coming from the blond, awkward and hesitant like he'd never so much as said the word before. It required a long moment of contemplation, knowing neither Draco nor himself would be happy with 'maybe'.

"No," he answered finally, quiet and sure, because if he'd really loved Cedric, wouldn't he _know_ it? Weary green eyes dropped with guilt and he watched Draco's shoulders rise and fall with his own sigh. "Or at least not how he wanted me to."

That was the thing about Potter, Draco mused in a sudden spark of insight; the raven just couldn't trust himself when it came to relationships, no matter what kind. Potter was the type to see love as a commitment, something that had to be permanent, and he avoided it because he was afraid he'd break it if he messed up. He was afraid of hurting people, and with the hero-complex, he saw himself as less important than the ones he loved.

There was a connection there, and Draco wondered for a moment if marijuana was some type of magic drug that allowed you to see into your psyche and the psyche of others or if it was just fucking with his head, making him delusional. But three people died for loving Potter. Three very important relationships ended in very twisted, tragic ways because of him, albeit inadvertently. His parents, they probably would've made it out of that burning house if they hadn't gone upstairs to save him; Cedric, had he never met Potter, probably would've remained the good boy that he was before he'd discovered the reality-numbing effect of drugs, never would've drowned himself in heartache pinning for a boy who was afraid to love him back. It was no wonder why Potter was the way he was; the poor guy probably thought he was cursed.

They fell silent after that, sluggish thoughts lingering in both their minds, and Draco was honestly feeling a little ashamed of himself. Not for the obvious reasons, but because after all that, all Draco could think about was the fear that he wouldn't remember this in the morning after the drugs wore off and everything he discovered tonight would disappear. Sooner or later, the time would come when Potter couldn't trust him anymore, and because of that impending fact, he never wanted to forget this, this fragile moment when Potter trusted him enough to tell him everything he'd been through.

Half aware that he was acting on impulse but not really caring in his current state of mind, Draco reluctantly pulled himself away from Potter's embrace, sitting up on his heels by the raven's side and hooking the string of his camera, pulling it from its now permanent home underneath his shirt. Potter only yawned and scrubbed tiredly at his face, too high and too introspective to really notice the blonde's movement.

Peering down at the exhausted-looking raven, Draco took the moment to just look. Something was different now, he could tell. There was always a haunted look to Potter's face that he never noticed before, a jaded look in his eyes sometimes that faded but never truly disappeared. But now that it was inexplicably absent, Draco could see the difference.

But maybe that was just the weed.

He lined up his shot with a practiced precision, seeing the raven through the lense of his camera and zooming in on the darker boy's relaxed features. Potter's eyes were closed, and Draco sank down a little to take full advantage of the way the moonlight played shadows over his face, the new angle making his lashes stand out darker than anything in the room. A "low key" photograph is what they called it, using the darkness to create a mysterious, secretive feeling in the picture. This was what he loved about taking photographs: how such a simple adjustment could make all the difference, the aim to make something as beautiful as possible.

"Potter," he said with a smirk, then snapped a picture when he had the raven attention, the flash making Potter's green eyes strike like lightning.

_Click. Beep._

Harry blinked heavily, then gave the blond a slow and indulgent, lopsided smile, which prompted Draco to snap another. Harry made grabby-hands for the camera and sat up straight when the device was forfeited. Once he figured out how to get the complicated thing on live view, he told Draco to smile. Draco didn't, of course, only raising a pompous eyebrow that Harry laughed at before reaching out to ruffle Draco's hair. That, of course, got him an annoyed-but-not-really pout that he quickly snapped a picture of before giving a devilish grin and pouncing.

Wide-eyed, Draco landed on his back with a very undignified squeak at the surprise tackle, followed by several more as nimble fingers began tickling his sides, and between shouts of "Stop" and "Get your fat ass off me, Potter," Draco was definitely laughing then because, yeah, Potter was going to get over this, and for the first time in a long time, Draco felt sort of proud of himself for having a hand in it, even though he really hadn't done much at all. He could delete the embarrassing pictures Potter was busy snapping tomorrow.

Harry relented with a victorious smile after a few more blinding, amateur flashes of the camera, though it didn't really occure to him to move from his place hovering over the boy below him, elbows supporting him on either side of the blonde's waist with his fingers laced on Draco's stomach and his head resting atop them. He was suddenly glad he'd decided to do this, opening up to Draco like he had, the only person he knew wouldn't feel sorry for him over what happened, wouldn't coddle him like Sirius and Remus would. Looking down into Draco's porcelain face, he knew he made the right choice.

He was struck slightly at how Draco looked right then, looking up at him with a remnant smile that showed all his teeth and half-mast, gray-blue eyes made a molten silver, metallic and glittering. Platinum blond hair was so uncharacteristically disheveled, and before his brain even had a chance to process the action, Harry found himself brushing it back from where it was obscuring the other boy's face. His palm froze on the blonde's cheek, however, and was then removed altogether when the other boy's eyes drifted shut at the action, the surprisingly carefree smile melting into something softer and a lot more intimate. Being as fair as he was, Draco was positively blinding in the sun, but now, bathed in the moonlight streaming through the window above them, the boy was practically _glowing_, seeming slightly androgynous the way angels were supposed to be.

"You're really beautiful," Harry told him as if only just noticing, the barest touch of awe in his voice making Draco's lips pull into an involuntary smile and drop eye contact in a way he told himself was definitely not coquettish, or at least it wasn't intended to be. It felt like they were on the edge of a cliff, the cusp of something life-changing, and the blond thought it best to respond carefully.

Draco raised a lazy brow at him, exchanging his somewhat bashful smile for a practiced smirk. "Oh?"

Harry let out a throaty laugh like Draco had just done the most precious thing in the world. "Stop fishing, Draco. You know you're perfect."

Draco tried not to preen, but it was as futile as the pleased blush heating his cheeks and the honestly flattered smile parting his lips. Looking the way Draco did, compliments like that were pretty commonplace. He had a unique face, flawless skin and sharp, graceful bone structure that came together in a look that made a lot of people stare and some boys his age and older uncomfortable. He was so used to receiving second looks and praising comments from random people that it didn't really mean anything anymore to get compliments, not that he didn't like to be reminded. Coming from Potter, though, made him see the difference between knowing he was gorgeous and actually feeling it.

But that word made Draco pause. Perfect. Without really understanding why, that word struck a cord in him, his mind too hazy to make the connection he knew he was missing.

"Aw, he can blush," Harry cooed, grinning madly. "That's so-"

Whatever surely demeaning thing the raven was about to say was cut off when the door swung open, making both of them jump, suddenly paranoid.

"What's that smell?" was the first thing Seamus said as he walked in first, sniffing loudly. He paused halfway through taking off his coat when he looked over to Harry's bed, eyes widening and jaw dropping almost comically as the other roommates of dorm room number sixty-six filtered in behind him.

"Smells like..." Dean trailed off, stopping in the middle of the room just as his boyfriend had as he caught sight of Draco and Harry.

Only when the rest of his roommates stumbled in did Draco and Harry realize how their position could be misinterpreted. There they were, alone in Harry's bed with all the lights off, Draco underneath him, both of them curiously ruffled and inexplicably guilty looking. Any other time Draco would be mortified by the way he'd jumped in surprise at their roommates sudden arrival and latched onto the raven's arm, but as he looked over his shoulder at the door, he just prayed Seamus would be wise enough to keep his mouth shut.

"It's about time," the Irishman exclaimed, grinning and no doubt about to congratulate them.

Harry brow wrinkled. "About time for wha-"

"Isn't it a little early for you all to be back?" Draco interrupted, pushing Potter off him perhaps a little more forcefully than necessary and checking his watch, noting that they were indeed back about an hour early. Lucky, because he'd only said that to distract Potter from the question he was about to ask, and he was lucky again when Seamus seemed to catch on that it wasn't what he'd thought with a severely disappointed frown.

"They brought us back early when it started snowing," Ron answered, looking at his two roommates' strange behavior in suspicious bewilderment like everyone else was. Then came the inevitable question. "Are you high?"

The question was aimed at both of them, but neither Harry nor Draco were paying attention, their heads snapping toward each other in surprise at what Ron had said before, then at the window where they could see that, yes, it was in fact snowing.

"Oh, my God, she really is a witch!" Draco exclaimed in shock. That insane Looney Lovegood was right!

Harry stared at the blond for a moment before a chuckle escaped his throat. Then he was laughing so hard breathing started to become a serious concern, collapsing on the bed in a pile of shaking mirth and half-formed sentences. At first, Draco didn't know what was so funny, but then he caught sight of their newly arrived roommates who were shooting each other baffled, open-mouthed looks, looking at them both like they were insane, and that was what made Draco start laughing, knowing how insane he'd sounded. Then they couldn't stop, tears blurring their vision and sides pinching, trying in vain to answer their roommates now amused, but still highly bewildered questions. Eventually they dubbed the two a lost cause.

"Goodnight, guys," Dean said, pulling the raven's curtain closed and shaking his head in a combination of amusement and exasperation.

Draco and Harry calmed down after a while, breathless chuckles leaving them every now and then as they settled down, their roommates voices murmuring background noise. Feeling lightheaded, Draco laid back on Potter's bed, rubbing his temples and trying to clear his mind. Sober up, so to speak. It wasn't any help, however, and he gave up with a yawn, his eyes closing of their own accord. For having not slept in so long, Potter didn't seem the least bit tired anymore, and Draco listened half-heartedly to the raven go from talking about Luna Lovegood being psychic to explaining his nonsense theory about how people were like money that gave Draco a strange sense of déjà vu and swear he'd heard it somewhere before.

Harry wasn't even sure what he was talking about anymore and let whatever he'd been in the middle of saying die on his tongue. Flopping back onto his pillows, he winced as something jabbed his ribs. Digging underneath him, he recovered Draco's camera, which he only recognized after several moments of staring at it.

"What was this about?" Harry asked, gesticulating with the camera before handing it back to its owner.

Too stoned for sarcasm or deflection, Draco was compelled to answer honestly. "Didn't want to forget."

Harry took a moment to think about that, then nodded in understanding. It made sense now that he thought about it. Draco was always taking pictures, though almost never in the view of anyone else, and even though he'd never been invited to look through them, Harry'd seen the stack of photo albums in the bottom drawer of Draco's desk. Memories were what Draco was taking pictures of, people and places worth remembering.

Honored at the revelation that he was important in some way to the blond, Harry smiled over at Draco, who was almost asleep now, curling into the warmth of his shoulder almost subconsciously and still fully dressed, his breathing evening out. Snuggling down next to him and pulling up the covers, Harry was careful not to disturb the blond.

"Go sleep in your own bed, Potter," Draco murmured even as he wormed closer, his voice muffled by the covers he'd pulled up to his nose.

Harry smiled softly, brushing a lock of blond hair from Draco's face. "This is my own bed," the raven reminded him in almost a whisper, but it seemed Draco was too comfortable to care, because he didn't make a move to leave. He did, however, open an eye somewhat to confirm that, indeed, this wasn't his bed. With a mental shrug, Draco burrowed deeper into the comforter.

"Potter?" the blonde's muffled voice murmured from under his cocoon. His voice was a surprising contrast to his usual tone, soft and sleepy, innocent in a way Harry wished he could hear more often.

"Hm?"

Draco's fingers found the string around Potter's neck. "Is this...?"

Harry stilled the blonde's hand with his own. Lacing their fingers as he was wont to do and pulling them away from his neck, he nodded with an affirmative noise, but didn't say anything.

"Why'd you keep it?"

Harry honestly didn't know why he'd kept the string, not even in the motel room when he'd unwrapped it from Cedric's cold, limp arm and clutched it like a lifeline, except...

"I guess... I didn't want to forget," he said eventually, repeating Draco's words from just minutes before. He feared the answer came too late until Draco's hand tightened in his own and he relaxed. Eventually letting the lull of sleep pull his eyes shut, he couldn't resist pressing a kiss to Draco's temple and ignoring the red flags that came up at the action. Temptation would his downfall, Harry decided; one bite was never enough when the whole cake was so within reach. Exasperated at himself, an ironic smile pulled at his lips before closing his eyes for the last time that night.

Nightmares wouldn't come, Harry knew. In fact, he would hardly dream at all, but in the morning, surrounded by candy wrappers with baby fine strands of blond hair tickling his nose and a pointy elbow in his ribs, shivering because Draco had stolen all the covers, he would remember seeing Cedric smile, bright and sunny and perfect again.

--

The next day sparked a cause for celebration when Dumbledore announced he was lifting the cellphone ban for what he called a second chance-trial period. It being such a beautiful Saturday afternoon, the sun slowly melting away the first snowfall of the year and creating a nice, cool climate nobody wanted to stay inside and miss out on, it was decided that a meal outside Hogwarts' cafeteria was in order.

At the moment, they were all seated around an umbrellaed, wrought iron table on the terrace outside Dolci Portofino, a popular little Italian place among Hogwarts students whose food was a lot less presumptuous than it's name and a restaurant Blaise's most current ex-stepfather just happened to own, along with three or four other, more upper-scale Italian restaurants across the country. It seemed they weren't the only ones with this idea, either, because they'd stopped at several tables on the way in to say hi to their classmates.

They were in the middle of a ridiculously juvenile game of Truth or Dare when Seamus decided to relay the endlessly amusing anecdote of what happened the night before. Draco was among those deciding not to play, along with Blaise, who'd thought better of it lest someone ask the identity of his secret lover, and Smith, who wasn't invited to.

It wasn't that their little group -which Draco had somehow become an intricate part of without ever fully realizing it- was the type to ostracize anybody; it was just that Zacherias Smith was so hard to get along with. Potter was the only reason the Junior was in their company in the frist place, that much was obvious, but what was even more obvious was the fact that Smith didn't like a soul that wasn't Potter. In a very strange way, it was like anyone else didn't deserve his attention.

But for Potter's sake, the roommates of dorm room number sixty-six (and here Draco crossed his fingers behind his back) had come to a silent agreement not to openly express their dislike of Smith's presence, mostly because it was incredible selfish, not to mention childish, to tell Potter who he should be friends with. But at the same time, that didn't mean they had to pretend the Junior was at all welcome. It was a very subtle and passive-aggressive way of telling the Junior to leave.

"Then, they both shot up from where they were cuddling oh-so sweetly on Harry's bed, looking out the window like they'd never seen snow before, and Draco started shouting, 'She's a witch! She's a witch!'" Enter group laughter here. "They were stoned as hell last night, I don't even think they remember what they were talking about. You should've seen them when they woke up this morning, though, they were so cute."

Seamus had been going since eight o' clock that morning, delivering his account of what happened with teasing remarks that didn't even border on witty. Draco had attempted to explain what he'd meant by that seemingly insane exclamation once the night before and again that morning, but whatever he said just made him seem even more paranoid and out of his mind. As for the 'cuddling' remark, Draco _would_ deny it, expect that it was kind of exactly what they were doing last night. Plus, the look on Smith's face when he found out that not only did his potential boyfriend stand him up last night when he was obviously willing to put out, but spent that time getting high and 'sleeping' with Draco, aka The Competition, was entirely too satisfying not to revel in.

"Now, Seamus," Draco tsked mockingly as the laughter subsided, "I understand how much you enjoy this sort of thing, but really, right in front of the walking STD? I think you're hurting his feelings," he mock-reproached, effectively dispersing the amiable atmosphere surrounding their table and turning it tense. The way two cheetahs fighting over a carcass was tense.

He turned to Smith with a suedo-apologetic look and adopted an appropriate tone that was so fake and sickeningly genial, half the tables occupants took to watching Smith like they expected him to leap over the table and attack at any moment. "I'm sorry Harry couldn't come out to play last night, but after almost getting me into trouble yesterday, he wouldn't be such a good roommate if he didn't make it up to me somehow."

Nobody but Smith seemed to know exactly what that was supposed to mean, not to mention what it implied, but with Draco's tone, it didn't really matter; everyone pretty much got the jist of it. Zach's expression was unchanging, however, and it was exactly what it always was when Harry wasn't around; vaguely bored and annoyingly impassive. He had no trouble playing along, though, and he made the two blonds the very definition of catty bitches when he responded, waving off Draco's counterfeit apology like he actually meant it.

"No worries," Zach told him, literally brushing it off his shoulder along with an invisible piece of lint. "We'll have all the time in the world to play during the holidays," he continued, and if not on his lips, Draco could see the triumphant smirk in the other blonde's eyes.

"No, I suppose the VD clinic doesn't take vacations, do they," Draco retorted nastily, bitterly. It had yet to occur to Draco that when he went home to the Manor, Potter would be staying in Merlin, and he cursed Smith for reminding him. Until the other blond mentioned it, Draco hadn't once thought about the holidays, and suddenly, the last thing he wanted to do was go back to the depressing solitude of Malfoy Manor.

"You know, these STD comments are getting kind of tiresome, Malfoy. I thought you were more creative than that," Zach said mock-disappointedly, then took out his wallet and flipped it open, selecting a thin, plastic card and passing it over to Draco, who took it after only a second of hesitation. "But in any case, I happened to get tested regularly."

Draco tried not to let the surprise he felt show on his face as he looked down at the card in his hand. He'd made several comments before, of course, about Smith's questionable promiscuity, but that was mostly just Draco trying to piss him off, get a rise out of him, let him know that his presence was wholly unwelcomed. For all his taunting and mean provocation, Draco never thought Smith was even half the disease-ridden trick he made the other boy out to be.

But how much of a slut do you have to be to have a safe sex _license_? (1)

He felt Seamus lean over his shoulder to see, and his dramatically hushed gasp destroyed any kind of stoicism Draco was trying to uphold when he saw what Draco saw; an unassuming ID card with the words "STFree - safe sex ID" printed across the face. Draco had seen it somewhere before, a random magazine article or news story. It was one of those cards people bought to store their latest STD test results so any of their "partners" could call it up and see for themselves whether or not a one night stand meant a doctors visit.

That was, of course, when Potter decided to come back from the restroom, the very minute Smith managed to make Draco lose his footing and catch him off guard. Impeccable timing as always, that boy.

Compared to the week before, Potter had been in surprisingly high spirits all day, seeming completely refreshed from the time he woke up, playfully nudging Draco awake at a quarter to eight to snatch back some of the covers Draco'd stolen and to tease him about how he'd always known they'd end up "sleeping together." To an outsider, it would seem like that whole "murder suspect" fiasco never even happened.

It was a different story with his friends, though, and they could see that while Potter had been in much better spirits lately, there were still some things bothering him. He was quieter for one, less playful and more reserved. Sometimes it was like his smiles took a lot of effort or he'd disappear at odd times and tell no one where he was going; little things that simple acquaintances probably wouldn't pick up on.

Aside from the embarrassment of unintentionally falling asleep in the raven's bed and the irritation waking up in the same clothes he'd worn the day before caused him, sharing a bed with Potter was something Draco wouldn't exactly mind repeating. Sure, Potter was a serious cuddler, as he could've guessed, and the raven's bed really wasn't as soft as his own, but Draco was pretty sure he'd never slept as well as he had with Potter sleeping beside him, warm and closer than Draco should really allow.

"Let's, uh. Let's get back to the game, huh?" Dean tried to intervene, feeling smothered by the uncomfortable atmosphere.

"What are we playing?" Harry asked as he approached, taking the empty chair between Draco and Zach, the crossfire seat everybody else knew better than to take. His question was forgotten and he mumbled a curse when a sharp, aluminum up-rise of the intricate basket-weave table surface caught his sleeve and ripped a hole through his jacket. Draco and Zach's long-running bitch-fest dissolved completely for the moment as the raven striped it off and draped it over the back of his chair, revealing a dark green top that both blonde's couldn't help but notice complimented his eyes perfectly.

Unnoticed, Seamus's eyes rolled heavenward.

A waitress soon approached their table, ceasing conversation momentarily as they ordered their respective lunches. It was obvious from the way she whispered to her fellow co-workers that Draco and Harry had been recognized, courtesy of TDP, though thankfully she stayed discrete and didn't mention it. Crisis averted. Everything was going swimmingly until their server said she didn't think they had what Draco wanted to drink.

"Check," was Draco's condescending, haughty response/demand, prompting an admonishing look from Potter. Rolling his eyes, Draco let out a long-suffering sigh. "Please," he drawled insincerely. Nevertheless, Potter nodded his approval, adding an "If it's not to much trouble," to compensate for Draco's tone, prompting a slightly bemused smile from the waitress and another eye-roll from Draco.

Once the girl left with their orders, Draco turned to Potter with a raised brow. "So, how long am I grounded, Potter? Or do I get a spanking?"

Harry tried in vain not to smile. 'If you're good' was on the tip of his tongue, but he refused to take the bait, knowing Draco was probably expecting that response. "I know you probably think the contrary, but harassing the working-class isn't fashionable, Draco; it's mean."

"Well, thank God I have you to mind my P's and Q's for me, huh?" Draco smirked cheekily, then swatted at the chuckling raven when the boy tried to ruffle his hair.

"At least try to be good," Harry requested pleadingly before dubbing Draco a lost cause and turning to the rest of the table. "Lunch is on me, by the way, so feel free to gorge."

"Nice to know you're feeling generous again, Harry, but everything we eat here is on the house for me and mine until the divorce settlement."

"Blaise's mother has made gold digging a profession," Draco explained grandly, always eager to tell this particular story. "And since her surname changes about twice a decade, everyone just calls her Mrs Zabini in remembrance of her biggest fortune. Which, of course, came along with stretchmarks and morning sickness."

"Thank you, Draco," Blaise piped in sarcastically before the blond could continue. "The man my mother is currently divorcing just seems to have the very delusional idea that if he manages to get on my good side, I can somehow convince my mother to suddenly forget about cleaning out his bank account."

"That's a bit sordid," Zach commented offhandedly, a little sympathetic and rabidly interested in the conversation now that Potter was present.

In the time Draco had spent in the Junior's company, he'd learn a lot about his character. The first thing was that it could change at any moment depending on who he was in the presence of. Who he was to Draco was entirely different from who he was to Potter. Second was that he had mastered the Art of Manipulation and that he applied these skills in everything he did. All the techniques where apparent to anyone looking for them. He appeared interested in everything Potter was, laughed at all his jokes, agreed with anything he had to say, even mirrored the raven's body language to manufacture a sense of chemistry. The boy truly was a con-artist.

"Not really. Compared to the last one, this guy was okay. Just really stupid for not looking over the pre-nump. I feel kind of sorry for him, actually."

Draco gave the brunette an inquisitive look. "Is this the same one as before? The casket-robber with the red frerari that didn't speak English?"

"No, this one's even younger, believe it or not. Born in our decade, even. He does drive a Ferrari, though, a black one."

Amused, Harry put on a dramatic sigh. "Oh, the woes of being a blue blood."

"Old money, Potter," Draco reminded the raven with a wry smirk. "Ancestry means shit anymore. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, your newly discovered blood is blue."

"Creepy," Ron mumbled, voicing Harry's own thoughts whole-heartedly.

"But true, nonetheless," Blaise intoned. "You're practically an accessory now, Harry. It won't be long until the aristocrats sink their teeth in for a taste, especially now that they know you're in Hogwarts."

"The legendary boarding school for the children of the rich and aimless," Draco continued, then turned to the raven beside him with an all-knowing expression. "He's right, you know. Soon you'll be mingling at fundraisers and pressured into country clubs where ingratiatingly friendly, aging gentlemen can introduce you to their daughters. Just look at how my mother treats you."

"Your mother loves me," Harry objected, looking wounded.

Draco gave him a significant look that Harry really didn't understand the significance of at all. "Which is my point exactly."

Harry didn't know how he should respond to that, so he didn't, and only when their food arrived did he notice there was someone missing from their little group. He looked at Ron in askance. "I thought Hermoine was riding with you."

"They're off again," Blaise explained predictably, just as he had about two weeks before when Hermoine caught the redhead trying to read a very 'well-developed' tenth grader's shirt. Ron huffed at the disparagement, but didn't say anything.

The Weasel's inability to rein in his libido reminded Draco of the card he still held in his hand, Smith's Slut License. "Hey, Potter, look at this," Draco said, belatedly holding Smith's card out to the raven. Wanting an unbiased opinion, he decided not to tell Potter who it belong to.

Harry raised a brow at it, then looked at Draco with a carefully blank expression the blond couldn't grasp the meaning of, all good humor gone. "This isn't yours, is it?" the raven asked, his voice strangely serious with none of its usual upbeat lilt. It reminded Draco of the tone his father used when he wanted a certain answer.

"It's mine," Zach cut in, curious at the raven's sudden change of behavior and secretly anxious to see where it would lead.

"Oh. Good," Harry said, sounding relieved for a reason neither Zach nor Draco could understand as he handed the card back to it's owner.

At the sight of the two blondes' identical frowns, Seamus sighed in frustrated exasperation, letting Dean rub his back consolingly.

"So, what were we playing?" the raven asked again with a smile, back to normal with a flip of a switch. "House? Can I be the Daddy?"

Ron scoffed around his fork and swallowed before mumbling, "And we all know who'd want to be the Mommy," with a not-so-conspicuous glance in Smith's direction, prompting a group smirk at the Junior's expense.

"Nah, Draco would be the Mommy," Harry corrected, grinning at Draco's not-actually-annoyed eye-roll before giving the younger blond a suggestive eyebrow waggle, as not to feel left out. "Zach would be the Mistress."

Everyone laughed, but whether it was from what Harry said or how Ron was now choking on his lunch, who knew?

"Okay, back to Truth or Dare," Seamus declared, using the game as a conversation director before the two blonde's could get into it again. "Ron?"

"Truth," the redhead decided immediately, knowing the Irishman and his unfailing imagination would make him regret choosing the alternative. As it were, Seamus was feeling merciful. Or perhaps he'd just run out of dirty and embarrassing questions.

"Okay, um... Who's your favorite Spice Girl?"

Ron blanched a little at question, a bit offended that the Irishman would think he even knew who the retired pop group was, not to mention the suggestion that he had a favorite, but nonetheless considered it. "What's the one that wore the British flag as a dress? The curvy one?"

Draco gave him a disgusted look. "Ginger? That red haired living stretch mark? Figures you'd be the type to overlook a woman having the face of a pig if she had silicone breasts bigger than her head." This was exactly why Draco refused to play; his roommates were complete idiots. Everyone knew Posh Spice was the only one worth favoritism.

"What do you have against red hair?" Ron demanded crossly.

"Oh, nothing at all," Draco mock-assured in a tone that let everyone know the next thing coming out of his mouth would be as insulting as he could manage. "Beside it being the most hideous, retina-frying color in all the spectrum," he said with a pointed look to the top of Ron's head.

Before Ron could come up with a comeback, Zach caught everyone's attention with a lie so blatant it completely evaporated the impending and traditional trading of insults.

"I love your friends," Zach told Harry sweetly, nudging his shoulder. "They're like family." He was only addressing the raven, but purposely or not, it was said loud enough for the entire table to hear, and they couldn't help but gawk in disbelief. All expect Harry, who smiled at the observation and tweaked Zach's button nose before turning the sweetest smile on the rest of the table.

"They are family," Harry corrected, and even Draco was having a difficult time trying not to smile at that. Oh, Potter, the big softy.

Unbidden, an idea formed in Draco's head, and it got his stamp of approval after about twenty seconds of consideration. After Smith's little performance, it was time to bring out the big guns.

"Potter," Draco said, joining the game now that he had a reason to and ignoring the fact that it wasn't his turn. "Truth or dare?"

In hindsight, Harry should've thought over his answer. "Dare."

"I dare you to go over to Cho Chang's table and get her to kiss you," Draco sentenced immediately, ignoring the varying looks aimed in his direction and gesturing inside the restaurant where Chang was seated with two or three other girls from their year. Potter's eyes were dancing in amusement. "On the lips and you can't kiss her first," the blond conditioned.

After about two seconds of thought, Harry grinned and stood up. "Consider it done."

"You do seem awfully confident," Draco noted with a smirk. "What makes you think you can do it?"

"Easy," Harry said, grinning as he plucked the cherry from Seamus' ice cream Sundae and ignoring the protests that followed. He popped it into his mouth and grinned, his teeth around the stem. "You were right. _Je suis bon avec ma langue_," he smirked, delighting in the surprise and outrage on Draco's countenance before walking off, leaving his befuddled spectators to stare after him and Seamus to bemoan the loss of his stolen cherry. (2)

All in all, it didn't take Potter even ten minutes to get the girl to kiss him. It took less than thirty seconds for him to worm his way between Chang and one of the Parvati twins. A few minutes of wooing the table and the girls were giggling at whatever without-a-doubt charming thing he was telling them, all the while playing with the cherry stem between his teeth. He asked the girls a question to which all the girls nodded and most of them giggled. Draco watched with a frown as the other table fell silent, then rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time that day when Potter triumphantly held up the admittedly impressive, double-knotted cherry stem as the girls applauded him.

The raven soon focused his complete attention onto the targeted girl on his right. After a minute of so of hushed flirting, Potter leaned close and whispered something to which the girl nodded, smiling in way that made Draco almost regret daring Potter to do this and forget the reason he chose this particular challenge. The raven was making impressive progress with a girl he'd never spoken more than a few words to.

"You owe me fifty bucks, Ferret," Ron declared, smirking at the blond in smug triumph.

"The bet was that he's into guys, moron, not that he isn't into girls," Draco responded, delighting in the way the redhead's brow wrinkled as he tried to make sense of that.

"The boy's got game," Seamus noted proudly, grinning in Harry's direction, then turned to the blond sitting beside him, whispering so only Draco could hear. "I don't get it. I thought you liked Harry; why would you want him to kiss Cho?"

"Two reasons," Draco answered, ignoring the other comment and watching as the distance between Potter and Chang got smaller and smaller. "Watch," he instructed.

As agreed, Potter didn't kiss her. Instead, he lured the girl in like a fish on a hook, getting as close as possible without actually closing the distance. Potter whispered something to her that make her smirk, emboldened, and she placed a hand on the raven cheek before pulling him closer, making the distance between their lips nonexistent.

Almost immediately after the kiss broke, the bold attitude Cho had exhibited disappeared completely and Potter started to look concerned. The girl soon started to sob, and Draco had to cover his mouth not to laugh when Potter jumped about a foot in the air, his eyes wide and down right terrified, looking around pitifully for someone to help. It was a train wreck and Draco couldn't stop watching, his shoulders trembling from suppressed laughter.

The girls that had been so charmed by Potter when he'd first sat down with them now looked at him with fiercely censure expressions, sure he was responsible for their friend's tears. Potter tried to defend himself and explain, but the girls' were doing their best to prove how intimidating they can be when coming at you in a group. Cho was the one to come to his rescue, wiping tears from her face with the sleeve of her shirt. Potter was then sentenced to several minutes of uncomfortably trying to comfort her under the watchful judgement of her friends.

"What just happened?" Dean questioned aloud when Harry started to make his way back to the table.

"I hate you," Harry said to Draco as he took his seat, glaring balefully at the snickering blond across from him for a long moment before an unwilling smile tugged on his lips as well. He had to admit, as far as pranks go, that one was pretty good. But still, even though he knew it probably wouldn't work, he decided to try the guilt approach. "Her boyfriend just dumped her."

"I know," Draco smirked, decidedly unrepentant and way too proud of himself. "You should've seen the look on your face when she started crying, though. You could be in the NBA with a jump that high."

"It's not funny, Draco. I have to take her to the ball now thanks to you," the raven continued, sounding none too please with the fact and shocking the blond out of his amusement.

"You couldn't have just said no?" Draco demanded, angry despite the fact that it was his fault.

"She was crying! She was talking about how her ex was bringing one of her friends to the dance and how it's too late for her to find someone else. The next thing I know, I'm asking her to go with me."

"Wait," Ron said, his expression disbelieving. "You got a date to the ball with one of the hottest girls in school... and you're complaining about it?"

"Argh," Harry replied, moaning his despair. "Whatever, I don't even want to think about it. Let's get back to the game. Za-"

"I'm not playing," he Junior interrupted blankly before the raven could even finish saying his name, stabbing at his rustic bread and eggplant lasagna as if it had done him some personal injustice and gaining the whole table's attention.

Concerned, Harry touched the Junior's arm, trying to get the younger boy to look at him. "What's wrong?"

"What do you think, Potter? Your boyfriend just witnessed you kiss some girl you hardly know right in front of him on a dare," Draco deadpanned, still angry at Potter and himself. Potter's reaction surprise him, though, because before Draco was even finished with his sentence, the raven started choking on... well, nothing, really. Air? His own saliva, maybe?

"_B-Boyfriend_?" Harry managed to choke out between coughs, pounding his chest as if to tell his lungs to get back to work. Trying in vain to swallow down whatever imaginary thing that was stuck in his windpipe, he twisted the cap off the nearest bottle of liquid in sight that he might've thought was Sprite, which just happened to be Draco's bottle of Perrier that the restaurant did in fact carry. Only after downing half the bottle did his taste buds kick in and he only had a second to turn his head away from his roommates before the God-awful liquid was rejected in a clear spray all over the brick floor beside their table. Red-faced and teary-eyed, Harry was choking all over again. "G-Gah! _What is that_?!"

Eyebrows furrowed in amused bewilderment, Draco smirked. "French mineral water."

"You actually _drink_ this?"

Annoyed, blue-gray eyes narrowed. "No, Potter, I've just been buying it everyday for the last three years on the off chance my psycho roommate would drown himself trying to drink it. Now would you like to inform us just what the hell that sad but admittedly entertaining display of anatomical malfunction was about?"

And it was then, watching Potter choke on nothing in response to one simple, two-syllable word, that Draco realized the charismatic Harry Potter was... commitment shy. Well, of course he was. After everything the raven had been through, it was no less than a means of survival. It was by no means surprising or unthinkable, and it certainly couldn't be considered positive trait. So, why did Draco suddenly find it so endearing?

"Zach is _not_my boyfriend," the raven finally clarified, then backpedaled immediately after Zach threw him a look that read 'Just how retarded are you exactly?' in bold print. "I mean-not that-"

"No, I understand," Zach interrupted flippantly, his expression clearing as he looked back down at his plate, trying to regain some of the usual indifference he was known for. "You don't want to get involved. That's fine."

"Zach, trust me, it has nothing to do with you. And it's not that I don't want a relationship, it's just that I really, _really_ suck at them. Believe me, you wouldn't want me as a boyfriend."

"Harry, would you stop? I wasn't being glib when I said I understood," Zach said firmly, and if Draco didn't know better, he could've swore the hurt on the other blonde's face was genuine.

"But you don't understand," Harry argued stubbornly.

"Jesus, would you shut the hell up? _You're_ the one that doesn't understand," the Junior snapped, rattling the patio table as he slammed his palm on it and stood up, finally looking the raven in the eye.

The group stared at him, surprised at seeing the normally unphasable Zacherias Smith lose his composure. This was the first time any of them had seen the Junior act even remotely human. Seeing that his outburst had attracted unwanted attention, the Junior made it a point to lower his voice.

"The term Friends with Benefits is just an oxymoron, Harry. It isn't real. If you don't feel anything more for me than wanting to fuck me, that's fine, because I want you, too. But spare me the insult. Unintentional or not, you don't get to rub it in my face and then make a pathetic attempt at trying to comfort me by giving me the whole 'I'll only break your heart' routine just because you're feeling guilty."

He'd hit the nail on the head. In the scarily insightful and deductive way he had with everything, Zach was right an all accounts, but Harry wasn't listening anymore. Instead, he was staring in rapt attention at the Junior's hand, the spike that had caught his sleeve when he'd first sat down.

"Are you bleeding?" Harry questioned with furrowed eyebrows, distracting them from whatever kind of argument they were having.

Zach looked down at himself with wide eyes and seemingly unwarranted panic. "What?"

"You're bleeding!" Harry exclaimed, grabbing the Juniors arm. He jumped up in a rush to reach for some napkins, holding them over Zach's bleeding palm. He looked at the stunned-looking Junior with narrowed eyes. "How could you not feel that?" he demanded.

"I-uh," Zach stuttered, then cleared his throat, back to avoiding Harry's eyes. He tried to pull away, take the now bloody napkins from the raven, put some distance between them, but Harry wasn't allowing it. "It's nothing. I must have been too distracted."

"You're lying," Harry stated, a lot harsher than he'd intended. He surprised everyone with how serious and authoritative his voice sounded when he continued. "Nobody gets cut this deeply without realizing it, now tell me the truth."

Zach eyes flicked around at the rest of the table, his expression surprising them. It was the first time anyone had seen him nervous.

"Don't look at them, look at me," Harry told him, his touch a gentle contrast to his words as he turned the Junior's head to face him with his fingertips on the younger's chin. His eyes were imploring as they looked into his blue counterparts, but when Zach still didn't say anything, Harry gave a frustrated sigh. "Look, I don't care if you're on something, okay? I just want to know what it is."

Zach stared at him in disbelief. "You think I'm on drugs? Christ, Harry, are you _trying_ to insult me today?"

"What else am I supposed to think?" Harry almost shouted, his patience running thin. They were making a scene, he knew, but just couldn't summon the will to care. "What else could make someone not feel themselves getting stabbed besides-"

"Congenital Analgia," Zach cut him off in a grudging exhale. "I didn't feel it because I literally _can't_ feel it." (3)

Harry's eyes were narrowed in confusion and disbelief. "Wha- I don't understand."

"It isn't that difficult, Harry. I was born without the ability to _feel pain_. What more do you want me to say?" Zach asked, sarcastic and defensive. Looking decidedly uncomfortable and strangely ashamed of himself, his shoulders sagged with his sigh. "My body interprets it differently. Sometimes, like when I stub my toe, I'll feel something, but it's never pain... More like a tickle than anything."

The silence that followed Zach's confession could only be described as long. Everyone was waiting in anticipation for Harry to say something, but the raven seemed content to just stare at the Junior's bloody palm.

"Harry?" Zach ventured, his voice probing and looking for any sign of anything, considering both rejection and reassurance equally likely.

"You're the ultimate masochist," Harry breathed absently. He couldn't hurt Zach even if he tried, he realized, and that appealed to him on a deeper level than he could possibly understand. Putting a hand on Zach's shoulder and pulling him close, Harry turned to his roommates. "Someone tell them about that table, okay? Before someone else gets hurt."

"I'll get this boxed to-go for you," Seamus offered, gesturing to Harry's half-uneaten plate.

"Thanks," the raven answered distractedly before turning his attention back to Zach. "Come on, let's get you back so Nurse Pomfrey can take a look at that."

For several moments until they were out of sight, the table remained silent, everyone slowly coming out of their shock. Dean was the first to speak.

"Do you think he's lying?" the dreaded boy inquired. "You know, for sympathy points or something? I wouldn't put it past him."

"Nobody lies that well," Blaise stated thoughtfully, "not even him."

"I didn't know Harry was into that," Seamus mentioned distantly.

"He's not," Draco said in answer to all questions. Not believing how screwed up this day was, he let out a sigh, then looked over to the still-gaping Weasley, who'd gone completely silent after it became apparent that, yes, Potter was very much into guys. "You owe me fifty bucks, though, Weasel."

--

It was that night, while leaving dinner in the Great Hall where both Potter and Smith had been not-so-inexplicably unaccounted for, that Draco ran into the Junior. His appetite banished by his state of sulkiness, he'd left earlier than most, only to regret it when the other blond stopped him on his way back to dorm room number sixty-six, arms crossed and demanding an answer.

"Where's Harry?"

"Wasn't he with you?" Draco returned, his eyes flicking down to the bandage wrapped around Smith's palm.

"If he was with me, I wouldn't be looking for him."

"If he was with you, you'd be on your knees."

Smith smirked his wry agreement, Draco's response seeming to be exactly what he was waiting for. It was inevitable, this sparring of insults, taking turns back-and-forth like a particularly annoying game of chess. Maybe he shouldn't have been the first to drop the gauntlet, but the Junior's condescending tone was just asking for a verbal lashing. The one that wins would be the one that cuts the deepest, Draco knew.

"Really, Malfoy, are you completely incapable of polite conversation?"

"No, not completely," Draco answered placidly. "I just don't see the purpose of engaging in 'polite conversation' with someone I hate."

"Oh, you hate me, do you?" Zach taunted, looking delightedly gratified at the fact, then shrugged in insincere sympathy. "Well, I guess it's for the best. Anger certainly does help curb the bitterness."

"Since you would know, I'll just have to take your word for it," Draco countered. "Now, polite conversation, was it? Okay. How's the hand? Are you looking forward to Thanksgiving? Do your parents know how much of a slut you are? How's that for social niceties?"

"Marvelous," Zach smiled, unabashedly smug and seeming as though he wanted to laugh. "And as for your second question..." he trailed off suedo-innocently, then continued with a vindictive glee, watching closely for the other blonde's reaction to savour it in sadistic satisfaction. "Harry invited me to stay with him over Thanksgiving."

"Liar," Draco decided after a silent moment of admittedly bitter contemplation. Much to his disappointment, his accusation came out more doubtful and less certain than he would've liked.

"Ask him," Zach was quick to dare, knowing the other boy's pride wouldn't allow it and reveling in it. "Be my guest. Though if you think you can get him to extend his invitation to you, you'll have to find other sleeping arrangements. Unless it's a really big bed, three's only fun until you want to sleep, believe me."

"Oh, I do. Your Slut License is pretty indisputable," Draco responded icily, sneering at the other boy in disgust. Though Smith looked like he could continue trading put-downs all night, Draco had better things to do. "But other than that, I can't believe a single word that leaves your mouth. You can keep up your 'plays nice with others' routine in front of Potter, but I know you hate me just as much as I hate you, if not more. I bet you're praying I get hit by a car tomorrow."

"It _would_ save me a lot of trouble," Zach considered agreeably.

"Well, at least I'd be able _feel _it," Draco quipped nastily, enjoying the way the Junior's face flushed in genuine anger and poorly concealed embarrassment, all amusement draining from his features as Draco hit a definite sore spot.

Checkmate.

"He was headed to the computer lab the last I saw him," Zach informed, like a prize to this rounds winner. "Everything upstairs is locked by now, though, so he could be anywhere. I would ask you to tell him I was looking for him, but I'd be stupid to think you actually would."

"You'd be right," Draco agreed curtly before walking away, leaving his destination undisclosed. If there was one thing he knew about Potter that no one else did, it was that he'd never let little things like locked doors stop him. What he was doing in the computer lab, though, was something Draco wanted to find out.

Using the copied key that would seemingly never lose its usefulness, he made his way upstairs, a little proud at the fact that Potter had taken his advice to heart on their first impromptu meeting in the kitchens and had made sure to lock the doors back behind him. That is, until he approached the computer room and discovered the door cracked open, a glaringly obvious giveaway that someone was inside.

Sure enough, Potter was there, sitting alone in the dark in front of a single lit computer screen, leaning back in the swivel chair as far as it would go with his feet kicked up on the table in front of him. As if the open door wasn't obvious enough, the raven had music playing that Draco could hear from the hallway with no more than a mocium of effort. A few seconds later, though, Draco realized it was Potter's voice he was hearing.

_'Late dawns and early sunsets_

_Just like my favorites scenes_

_Then holding hands and life was perfect_

_Just like upon the screen'_

Potter's list of odd talents had grown so exponentially since they first met Draco couldn't even keep track of them anymore, but he nevertheless added music producing skills to it once he heard the music pause, start again without vocals, pause a second time, then start again from the beginning with a few subtle changes and Potter's voice, a bit distorted this time around. Finally, Potter stopped his constant clicking, seeming content to just sit back and listen to what was probably the finished product.

Normally, Draco would make a dramatic entrance and say something sarcastic like 'I didn't know you were a young producer', but there was something that stopped him from making his presence known. Along with Potter's expression, haunted like it was only when he was forced to confront the topic of Cedric, and the torn out notebook pages, old and wrinkled, littering the floor beneath him, Draco couldn't bring himself to open the door the rest of the way, especially as the song continued.

At first, Draco didn't think anything was off about it at all. In fact, when the song started, it sounded just like Potter; sweet and easy and just a little corny. But a few verses later, Draco realized how much it really did sound like Potter, the deeper, anguished part of Potter the raven hated letting anyone see.

_'And the whole time while always giving_

_Counting your face among the living'_

Draco knew instantly what this song was about, and it was with curiosity more than anything that made him stay and listen, watching Potter play with that morbid string around his neck and stare blankly into space through the cracked open door.

_'Up and down escalators_

_Pennies and colder fountains_

_Elevators and half price sales_

_Trapped in by all these mountains_

_Running away and hiding with you_

_I never thought they'd get me here_

_Not knowing you'd change from just one bite_

_I fought them all off just to hold you close and tight'_

It occurred to Draco that this was probably several songs compacted into one, if the massive number of discarded sheets of paper below the raven was anything to go by. Or maybe it had taken Potter years to write it, little pieces at a time since before Cedric died and after.

The guilty feeling was back again with a vengeancenow, but Draco couldn't bring himself to leave. Not yet. Not until he understood what Potter was trying to say. The raven blamed himself, that much was obvious. He was a bad influence on the boy but stayed with him despite what anyone had to say, most likely out of loneliness and a spark of selfishness that was pretty well-deserved after losing so much already. Draco got that much the night before, but he had a feeling there was something more, something behind the shell of "sweet and easy", something much deeper and a lot less transparent. He had a feeling, somehow, that Potter wanted someone to hear this, even if the one he wanted wasn't there to listen.

Draco wasn't prepared for when the song started to change.

_'But does anyone notice?_

_But does anyone care?_

_And if I had the guts_

_To put this to your head'_

_'But would anything matter_

_If you're already dead?_

_And should I be charmed now_

_By the last thing you said?_

_Before I pull this trigger_

_Your eyes vacant and stained'_

The music grew in intensity, and Draco found himself watching Potter's face, his blank expression breaking and giving way to pain. The raven's eyes were staring straight forward in a stubbornness and determination that was so second nature to Potter, doubled over himself now and shoulders hunched with what must've felt like the weight of the world, one hand clasped hard in unruly black locks.

Draco's eyes were wide as Potter's voice seemed to grab hold of his throat, keeping him there and making him listen.

_'But does anyone notice?_

_But does anyone care?_

_And if I had the guts_

_To put this to your head_

_And would anything matter_

_If you're already dead?_

_And now should I be shocked_

_By the last thing you said?_

_Before I pulled this trigger_

_Your eyes vacant and stained'_

Potter was practically radiating misery now, and Draco couldn't watch anymore. Pushing himself back against the wall beside the door, he tried to breath normally. He felt as if his lungs were collapsing it was so difficult. The song felt like it was taking over his entire body and the drums were his heartbeat, beating faster and faster inside his chest.

_'And in saying you loved me_

_Made things harder at best_

_And these words changing nothing_

_As your body remains_

_And there's no room in this hell_

_There's no room in the next_

_And our memories defeat us_

_And I'll end this direst_

_But does anyone notice?_

_But does anyone care?_

_Well if I had the guts_

_To put this to your head'_

Draco wanted to leave, he wanted to run away and try to forget he ever wanted to know this part of Potter, the sad, bitter, lonely, angry boy that was covered up every day with a mask of easy grins and teasing remarks. But he couldn't. Raw and real and too intense to handle, Potter's voice felt like it was restricting him, tying up his legs and squeezing his chest tight enough to hurt. Every verse, every tortured line after another, made it impossible for him to move.

He hated this, hating knowing what it sounded like to hear Potter screaming in anguish until his voice was raw, pouring his heart out in a song, scary and morbid and beautiful. He hated the way Potter's words effected him so, hated knowing how the raven felt and feeling it himself. But more than anything, everything combined, Draco hated how Potter's clench fist was shaking at tightly pressed lips, fighting against a sob that was making his throat constrict as he tried to swallow it down, how bright green eyes were nowhere to be seen under the permanent, anguished wince fixed on his face like he was afraid of what he'd see if he opened his eyes.

_'But does anything matter_

_If you're already dead?_

_And should I be shocked now_

_By the last thing you said?_

_Before I pull this trigger_

_Your eyes vacant and stained_

_And in saying you loved me_

_Made things harder at best_

_And these words changing nothing_

_As your body remains_

_And there's no room in this hell_

_There's no room in the next_

_But does anyone notice_

_There's a corpse in this bed'_ (4)

The music stopped and Potter's voice disappeared, and like his restraints had been cut, Draco had to catch the door frame to keep himself from falling to his knees, clasping the other hand over is mouth as not to gasp in relief or sob in sympathy after such a surprisingly taxing experience. It wasn't until he looked back at the raven, who was rubbing the back of his palm across his eyes and sighing wetly in frustration, that he realized he, too, was crying.

It was in that second, seeing his tears glistening on his fingertips, that Draco realized he'd been wrong. It wasn't about the words, examining them and coming up with feasible conclusions, and it wasn't about the music, either. It was about both of those things coming together in an attempt to express all the things Potter kept locked away deep inside of himself. It was about how angry he was at himself for getting so close to someone and not being strong enough to let go before it was too late, how angry he was at Cedric for loving him, for not seeing how bad the raven was for him, for leaving him alone but never letting him forget. It was about anger and the saddest, the loneliness and hopelessness that anger stemmed from.

The blond was feeling too many things at once, but mostly, Draco was scared. Not for Potter as he probably should be, but for himself. In his seventeen years of life, he hadn't once taken the time to understand someone this deeply. Every relationship he had was so superficial until now, until Potter. He'd never cared to, never cared this much about another person. But his relationship with Potter was reaching its end and fast. Only now, Draco really didn't want it to.

Potter's eyes were downcast, now puffy and red, twining the string tightly, almost vengefully around his fingers. Even with all the lights out, Draco could clearly see the process of Potter slowly gathering the strength to build his mask back up, creating a shield to separate him from the rest of the world. This was eerily familiar to Draco, and he understood perfectly, as he wore many masks himself in a vain hope to try and protect himself from the things he couldn't handle by himself. Alike and yet so different as they may be, Draco felt as if his masks were disappearing, cracking and falling apart while Potter's seemed to be getting stronger, more difficult to see past.

_'You did this,'_ his conscience reminded him unmercifully like a disconnected voice watching the situation play out from somewhere above them. The guilt and shame stabbed at his chest with a burning wave of anger at himself like the twist of a knife. _'He opened his heart to you and you did this.'_

Draco heard the pop before could make out where it had come from, seeming so loud in the now silent room, and all other thoughts came to a screeching halt at the sight of the limp string hanging from the raven's clenched fist that was now... just a long piece string, a piece of trash. The once morbid thing that had been wrapped around Potter's neck like a collar of lead, like a manacle that mercilessly tied him to Cedric and all the pain that came with him since the very first glimpse he had of the raven haired boy was nothing now. Draco wondered if Potter was trying to make Cedric nothing as well.

It was with a deep sadness that Draco walked away, his body inexplicably weak, feeling numb and useless, drained of all energy as he stewed over his thoughts and the words of that horrible, beautiful song. Potter's song wasn't about dwelling in the past and wallowing in his own misery. It wasn't about being a survivor and resenting those who just couldn't understand. It wasn't about the words or the music or where it all came from. It was about letting go, no matter how painful it could be, and Draco knew somewhere inside him, in that place that only existed him and Potter, that the raven felt unforgivably selfish and disgusted at himself for letting Cedric go, for trying to forget him and finally, finally move on. Ripping that string from his neck had to be one of the hardest things Potter had ever had to do, and as testament to his song, the raven had to have felt as if he was betraying Cedric's very memory, like he was killing the boy again in the most cowardly way, simple as pulling a trigger but so much harder. Killing him, only this time it was intentional.

His heart aching for Potter in a way that left him feeling suffocated, Draco wondered helplessly... What the hell was he going to do?

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**Author's Note:**

(1) The STFree license, sexually transmitted disease free, safe sex ID card. It's turned into a very popular accessory.

(2) "I am good with my tongue" in French.

(3) Congenital analgia is a real medical condition that doesn't enable you to feel pain. People with this condition have most likely never felt pain, as their bodies are either indifferent or insensitive to it, and they have to be extra careful about getting sick because their bodies wouldn't recognise a fever or stomachache or any other symptom normal people take as cues to go see a doctor.

(4) The song is "Early Sunsets Over Monroeville" by My Chemical Romance. I thought it was appropriately heartbreaking at the time, but I don't know, tell me what you think.

I want to apologize for being so late in updating. I know I keep saying over and over how I'll update sooner and never do, but I want you guys to know I am trying. It being summer, everyone just expects me to be outside or in the pool every second of the day, and my family really doesn't know how to take no for an answer. There's a lot going on in life at the moment, one thing after another. First it was strep and the messed up relationship I have with my doctor's office where I go in for a bottle of penicillin and leave with three (sort of) unnecessary shots, a negative pregnancy test and two more appointments, then my aunt broke two vertebrates in her neck in a car accident and had to stay at my house while she recovered, prompting quasi-relatives from Bowls of Hell, USA to monopolize my entire house like a particularly annoying plaque of locust. It took a helicopter and an entire night of surgery but she'll be okay. After that, my semi-brother-in-law was involved in a police chase where they proceeded to beat the shit out of him after catching him, breaking some ribs and puncturing his lung in the process, then throwing him in prison for the grand total of three life sentences. My sister's still crying. And to top it all off, a flu shot a few days ago which side-effects were worse than what it was suppose to be preventing. I'm talking fever, paleness, sweats, muscle aches, hallucinations, the works. Anyway, I hope I can compensate somewhat for what a dirty liar I'm turning out to be.

Also, I told you the string necklace thing wasn't irrelevant; it was actually what Cedric used to shoot up with, as some of you probably noticed at the end of the last chapter if you were paying close attention.

And again, since I got such an incredible response last time, I want you guys to tell me your favorite line or scene.


	20. Anything But the Truth

**Rating:** Mature.

**Warning:** Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness. Drug use.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any of the songs mentioned in this chapter.

* * *

**Previously...**

After confessing the secrets of his past, Harry seemed to be getting better. Or so it seemed. Zach made his feelings known after Harry accidentally got a date to the dance via Draco's interference, then revealed a surprising secret about himself. Later, Harry finally worked up the strength to remove Cedric from his life permanently, leaving Draco unsure of what to do now that his feelings had become less than ignorable.

* * *

**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Twenty**

**Anything But the Truth**

* * *

Arriving home Thanksgiving day, the first thing Draco saw was his mother waiting for him at the gate, an irritated expression plastered on her beautiful face like cheap moisturizer, which was a bad sign if he'd ever seen one. Following the example of Paul Revere, she felt a fair warning was in order, which was that Lucius had invited a couple of guests to stay with them over the holidays. In Draco's mind, this was translated to: Lucius would be working through the holidays but didn't want the press to catch wind of him being anything but a family-man.

Typical.

What wasn't so typical was the chaos that had descended over Malfoy Manor. The entry hall had turned into a bustling freeway, people absolutely everywhere, coming and going in disorganized lanes of traffic, each one hurrying to do something or carrying armfuls of things like filing boxes and bulky packages. In a way that made Draco think of worker ants, strangers were rushing about in every direction, bumping into each other and swifty apologizing before continuing on their way. The Manor's servants were just as flustered, maids carrying fresh towels and sheets upstairs, which Draco assumed was to prepare the guestrooms for whomever was staying.

On their way to the front parlor for the quasi-traditional, homecoming how-have-you-been between father and son, Narcissa deigned to explain the situation further. Between listening to his mother venting her frustrations to him as if he were one of her chatty girlfriends, Draco used the time it took to maze their way toward their destination to mentally prepare himself for whatever confrontation he was about to have with Lucius and privately marvel over the fact that he used to look forward to seeing his father after these months away from home.

"She may be my sister, and I love her for it -honestly, I do- but after Rodolphus passed away and _that man_ proposed to her..." Narcissa trailed off with a sigh, handing her coat to Draco to hang in the entry hall closet and dodging someone balancing an armful of boxes so high his face was completely out of sight. She gave Draco a pointed look. "She seems a few cards short of a full deck, if you know what I mean."

Personally, Draco thought Aunt Bella was crazy far before Uncle Rodolphus died. As far back as he could remember, the woman had always seemed a little off-kilter, what with her jack-in-the-box temper that was only surpassed by a sadistic streak a mile wide.

Nobody dreaded visits from Aunt Bella like the Manor's servants, however, and Draco really couldn't blame them. She'd trip them in the corredors for no reason at all, among several other unnecessary cruelties. Once, a maid was helping her into a new dress that refused to zip up past her waist and then made the mistake of suggesting letting the seams out a little so it would fit. Bella had made her cry, threw a lamp at her, then had her fired. It was something Draco thought was kind of funny when he was little, but had since become one of the reasons he was so cautious around her now.

The other reason came after Bella's first husband's funeral, when her occasional visits turned into a three-month stay, a whole quarter of a year. About a month in, she purchased a new wardrobe in all black. She was in deep mourning of the loss of her dearly beloved, she explained, then bragged about how she'd used his life insurance check to buy it. That, a new car, and a new house. It was like she was trying to get even with the dead man for a reason only she knew.

It wasn't until she left that the maids felt it safe enough to gossip about, and it wasn't even a day after her parting that Draco overheard some of them whispering about how they'd bet anything she'd been the one to kill him in the first place. But even back then, Draco wasn't one to believe everything he heard, especially from servants. It could've been nothing but the bitter rumoring of miffed and mistreated help for all he knew.

Except even his parents refused to broach the subject. Uncle Rodolphus might as well have never existed for all he was mentioned after his death.

He recalled theirs wasn't the most active of marriages. In fact, one would've been hard put to notice they were even a couple unless being told beforehand, with how indifferent they acted with each other. Plus, they'd been having something of a fight before Rodolphus died. Not a fight like normal couples had; she was just a bit colder and he was just as uninterested as ever, if not more so. All this, coupled with the fact that he had no idea what Uncle Rodophus died from, planted the seed of suspicion in Draco's mind.

Long story short, he tried not to spend too much time around her after that, just in case.

"I didn't know she remarried," Draco replied offhandedly, opening the parlor door for his mother, looking behind him at an apologizing butler and a frenzied deliveryman trying to collect all the things that had been scattered in their collision as they got trampled by the traffic of the hallway.

The thought that Potter would've stop to help them surprised Draco almost as much as the compulsion to do so himself.

"Not yet, darling. Their waiting until after the election."

"Wait," Draco said, pausing in the door. "Who is she marrying?" he asked with trepidation, already fearing the answer he suspected.

It seemed Lucius' visitors had monopolized the parlor, he noticed upon following his mother inside. If he thought the entry hall was crowded, this was ridiculous. People wearing business suits and headsets were all talking at once and ordering others around, where to put things or where other things needed to be taken. It was a drastic change from the warm, inviting room in which his mother showed off her newest designs and that he used to force his occasional playmates into private little tea parties that Draco remembered. The entire Manor had turned into a pick up-drop off warehouse for election supplies.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy," declared a voice somewhere to his right, a voice that made Draco think of Cruella DeVil every time he heard it. And sure enough, there stood his Aunt Bellatrix, distractedly directing several men in tan uniforms where to deposit the several labeled boxes they carried.

Draco's smile felt made of plastic as she approached.

"If it isn't my favorite nephew. How are you, Draco?" Bellatrix asked. Beside her stood Tom Riddle, his snake-like eyes watching Draco in keen interest and seemingly not hearing a word some woman with a clipboard was trying to tell him about... demographics? Whatever it was, Draco pretended not to notice.

"I'm fine, Aunt Bella," he answered pleasantly, the title making him feeling strangely childish. "How're you?"

Bella gave him a scrutinizing look. "You're pronounciation seems to be getting sluggish, Draco," she commented lightly, tilting her head to one side as if considering it. It reminded Draco of a cobra in a really weird way. "Hm, I suppose the dorm rooms can be to thank for that?"

"Bella," Lucius stated warningly with his hand to the mouth peice of his cellphone, giving her a look that clearly read 'Not now.' His wife shook her head at him in disapproval, trying to force him into greeting his son properly and stop being so childish with a single crucifying look.

"Situations such as these can't be allowed to fester, dear brother-in-law. Trust me, it's my profession."

"I'm just tried from the trip, Aunt Bella," he claimed, pretending to be interested in the commotion to his left so he could better avoid looking at Riddle, who was _still watching him_. As she did with everything, Bella noticed, and Draco cursed his luck as he put on a pleasant face.

"Oh, how rude of me. Draco, meet your uncle. I'm sure you've heard of him."

"I'd have to be living under a rock not to have heard of Tom Riddle, Merlin's chief of police and future mayor," Draco charmingly replied, trying to smile and hoping it didn't look as fake as it felt. "We've met before. Presuming your the groom-to-be and not some long-lost relative, you have my congratulations."

"Now, Draco, we're practically family," the man chided in greeting, a smile twisting his face into something mind-bogglingly friendly. "No need to be so formal."

It took a second for Draco to realize Riddle was teasing him, and not even in a mean way. Playful wasn't exactly a characteristic Draco could associate with the ruthless, cold-hearted chiefof police he'd met a year ago, and he wondered for a moment if this was a different man entirely. But no. They were one in the same, the blond assured himself, only now he was family.

Draco tried not to shudder at the thought.

"I suppose that secures my invitation to the wedding then," he joked instead, his attempt to hide the uneasiness in his voice traitorously causing it to come off as just this side of overwhelmed, flattered even, which almost made him wince.

"And any other function I can turn into an excuse for such charming company," Tom replied, but whether he was referring to Draco himself or the Malfoy family as a whole was a mystery. Draco sincerely hoped it was the latter, lesser evil. "Though I feel I must apologize. Surely this invading circus wasn't what you expected to come home to."

"Oh, he understands, don't you Draco?" Bella cut in, all at once complacent and demanding, eager to please like Draco'd never seen her before. "Progress can't be halted for a holiday off the campaign trail," she told them in that it-can't-be-helped, fortune cookie way she got whenever she wanted a consensus. For all her wise words, however, she might as well have not been heard.

"It isn't much different from Hogwarts, actually," Draco commented without thinking, then froze at the sight and sound of Riddle laughing at his unintended rib. He felt tricked in a strange way, letting Riddle lure him into an honest to God conversation like that without even realizing it.

"Well, hopefully I'll have the authority to change that soon," Tom winked, giving the blond a just-between-us smirk. Draco could only imagine what he meant by that. "After all, a rose can't be expected to bloom amongst weeds, can it?"

Jesus, Draco thought, was this man laying it on thick or what? He didn't know if that was a gardening reference or if the man was quoting Shakespeare, but whatever it was, Tom Riddle had just compared him to a _rose_, and that was unforgivable. (Anyone with an iota of poetic creativity would know he was a lily, if anything; roses were like the John Doe of the flower world.) It was like Invasion of the Clones. The man he met before was like a snake in the grass, quiet and calculating, but _this_ -Draco had no idea who this was. It reminded him of Potter (though really, everything was starting to remind him of Potter), the way he could be two different people, full of energyand charm one minute then kind of reserved and introverted hours later, or in Riddle's case, Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. The comparison made his mouth taste like stomach acid.

Another thing that had his head spinning was that Draco knew without a doubt Riddle had to have heard all the rumors surrounding him. Suspicious didn't even begin to cover it. The man whose priority was to slam a 'null and void' stamp down on all same sex marriages and make any future ones illegal was treating him like the sun rose and set on his demand. It didn't make the slightest bit of sense.

But there was something in what Riddle was saying and the way he was looking at Draco that was making the blond constantly try not to bristle. Nothing he said felt anything like a passing comment. The tilt of his lips and the tone of his voice spoke of a double-meaning, and Draco had to wonder if he was being secretly sarcastic or something. He wasn't the only one to notice, either, because he felt his mother tense beside him in effort not to say something and even Lucius paused whatever conversation he was having to throw a glance their way.

"We were just about to sit down for lunch," Narcissa stated, tactfully changing the subject. "I'll come with you to get cleaned up, darling, so we can chat a bit."

Letting his mother lead the way, Draco thought of how his father hadn't even said a word to him, if it was just that he was busy, which Draco could clearly see he was, or if he just didn't care to. It was going to be a tense holiday, that much was for sure. Then he'd go back to school on Monday, but before then, he'd have to think of a way to side-step the upcoming train wreck his father was postponing and make it out alive.

"Mother?"

"Yes, darling."

"When did we get an elevator?"

---

Thanksgiving dinner was nothing short of a disaster. It started off normal enough, if a bit awkward. Aside from conversation concerning the campaign, not much else was to be said. Nobody beside Bella and Tom wanted to talk about Draco, and that was highly unusual because Draco was normally only too happy to talk about himself. It was uncomfortable and tense and everything Draco knew it would be, everything it had been since the day Draco'd arrived home.

The main topic of conversation was last week's Riddle vs Scrimgeour debate. Rufus Scrimgeour was the warden of Azkaban Department of Corrections, a famous prison marooned on a tiny island less than a fifty miles from Merlin that he affectionately referred to as the new and improved Alcatraz. Being a decorated war hero, he thought he stood a running chance to win against Tom Riddle for mayor. Riddle, obviously, disagreed with that.

"I'm telling you, Lucius, your job is getting far too easy. Not only did the man know nothing about the protesters rallying outside his own prison even as he spoke, but he didn't even have the good sense to use a proper spokesperson, rambling on about how impersonal and cowardly it was not to speak for yourself. A shot against me, no doubt. Did you see the way he stumbled over that school board question? Even Oswald Beamish would've been embarrassed for him."

Lucius raised a questioning brow. "Oswald Beamish? Wasn't he the man who paused in the middle of a campaign speech to gallantly warn the public of the epidemic conspiracy of mad cow disease?"

"His point," Bella informed him briskly.

"Only nobody knew what he was talking about because he kept referring to it as 'Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy'," Tom smirked. "That or 'BSE', which was even worse because everyone thought he meant the Bombay Stock Exchange."

"It was a wise decision. The term 'mad cow disease' would've made him sound ridiculous," Bella ribbed, sharing a laugh with her husband.

"As if he needed any help."

Narcissa tsked. "It was the most inopportune moment he could've chosen, I agree, but attempting to warn the public of a threat he believed would kill thousands shouldn't have made him a laughing stock. I feel sorry for him. That poor man's entire life's work was discredited after that."

"Oh, lighten up, Cissy," Bella said, then gestured to the spot beside her sister. "Look, Draco thinks it's funny."

Looking up at his name, Draco realized he had everyone's eyes on him. "Hm?"

"He isn't paying attention to a word we're saying," Narcissa said from beside him, smiling a bit herself. "That's the first time I've seen you smile since you've been home. What could be so amusing?"

"Oh, it's nothing," Draco said. He hadn't even known he'd been smiling until Narcissa had pointed it out, and he was suddenly embarrassed at the fact that the first he'd smile since coming home had been because of Potter, who wasn't even there. "I was just reminded of a joke a friend told me at school."

"Well, don't leave us out of the loop," Bella said, entering the conversation and making an inviting gesture.

"No, it wasn't even that funny, really," Draco tried to dissuade, only to receive blank expressions in return. Defeated, he sighed and dutifully recited the stupid joke. "Two cows were standing in a field. One says to the other, 'Did you hear about that mad cow disease that's going around?' and the other answers, 'Yeah, makes you glad you're a penguin, doesn't it?'"

An awkward silence followed the punchline and everyone was still staring, only the quiet clatter of his father setting down his fork could be heard. His mother looked a mixture of confused and sympathetic.

Bella cleared her throat, then paused before speaking. "You're friend doesn't have much of a sense of humor, does he?"

"I guess not, no," Draco agreed, but couldn't help the smile forcing itself back onto his face. It hadn't been the joke Draco'd been smiling about; it was the way Potter had laughed when he told it to him, like it was the funniest thing in the world.

"Well, you certainly seem fond of him," Bella commented, her eyes gaining a suspicious shine. Draco didn't know how to respond to that, and when he didn't, a satisfied Bella had her suspicions confirmed. "Aha, so that's who it is."

"And who would that be?" Riddle inquired, sounding curious.

_Don't say it, don't say it, don't-_

"Why, none other than Mr Harry Potter, of course," Bella answered him, but kept her eyes on Draco. The sadistic wench was enjoying this, Draco could tell; she was making her own entertainment. "I'm sure all of us have heard of him by now."

Tom took a lazy sip of wine. "Who hasn't?" he responded offhandedly. His total lack of interest or surprise made the topic seem exhausted all of a sudden.

"Bella, this is not the time," Lucius told her calmly. His tone made it sound like a request, but his expression conveyed the command clear as day.

"This is the perfect time," she contradicted with little to no regard to her host's rising, concealed anger. "After all, Draco doesn't have anything to hide -right, Draco? Otherwise, he wouldn't have been so irresponsibly photogenic back in Merlin. Am I right?"

_Favorite nephew, my ass,_ Draco thought. If there could be someone more anti-gay than his father, it was Bellatrix Lestrange. She was against most things that deviated from the norm, in fact, and Draco felt like a complete fool for forgetting it.

Concentrating on how to respond, it suddenly occurred to Draco that this was a perfect opportunity to raise his father's suspicions. Quickly but with the care one would expect from a bomb squad, Draco came up with a timeless answer, then gave his aunt a secretive smirk.

"No comment," he replied brazenly, internally reveling in his aunt's frown.

"Now don't think I'm trying to put you in the spotlight. That's the opposite of my intentions, trust me. I just think we could all use some clarity after your being subject to such awful rumors," she assured, playing the concerned angle after the direct approach was thwarted. "We're all family here, nephew, you can be honest."

Draco was actually starting to enjoy this. If there was one area in which he excelled, it was playing the part to get the reaction he sought. That in mind, he put on an apologetic face.

"I would, Aunt Bella, and I wish I could, but..." Laughing inside his head at how heartfelt he was able to come off as, Draco took a second to seem hesitant. "At least until the press calms down a little, Harry thinks we should keep it only between us."

That definitely got a reaction. As soon as the raven haired boy's given name left his lips, he felt his father's narrowed, tell-me-you're-joking gaze burn into his head. Draco's would-be confession held two purposes: the first was to succeed in sounding as sorry and as honest as possible; the second to imply Potter held more influence over him than anyone in their dinning room, which was aimed at and definitely included his father. Narcissa's concerned and considering expression was just a negative side-effect he'd have to deal with later.

"And aren't we all interested in what _Harry_ thinks," Lucius mocked, then rubbed his chin contemplatively in the equivalent of twisting the mustache or stroking the evil-looking cat he didn't have.

"The press certainly is," Tom commented, looking for all the world like the Malfoy family was put on the earth purely for his entertainment.

What Riddle said, though, wasn't untrue at all. The press was loving Harry Potter, that was for sure, and even the reporters who disapproved of all the fanfare, who made it a point to ask why on earth everyone would be so interested in some teenage boy -was the public really that bored with their own lives?- were still taking about him nonetheless.

As anticipated, TDP -the number one source for any news regarding Potter and himself- had come out with more Harry Potter headliners. Press release style, spread out over weeks so it would seem they're always finding out new information. Just recently, Rita Skeeter informed her adorning public that 'our dashing young Romeo's penchant for romance didn't begin with the baby of the Malfoy family' and 'Before the ultimate demise of Cedric Diggory, Potter lead the two across the country on a passionate whim of young love, fueled by the desperate desire to be together freely.' She then preceded to warn Draco's parents to 'Be sure to keep a careful eye on your pride and joy, or the next thing you know, Harry Potter may be sweeping him off his feet and out of your lives.' It was all at once degrading and hilarious.

"Though I suppose she does have a point," Lucius continued, pretending to consider it as he dabbed a napkin to the corner of his mouth, prompting Draco to do a double-take. Bella looked thrilled. "Meet with me after dinner, Draco, it's high time we discussed this."

Though it didn't seem like he was particularly looking forward to it, Lucius had apparently decided to bite the bullet. Aside from the fact that his stomach and it's contents had flipped uncomfortably as soon as the words had left his father's mouth, Draco was a bit disappointed, to be honest. He'd thought he would have at least the rest of the holiday to iron out all the details of what he wanted to say. And you know what they say: improvisation is the most amateuristic form of lying.

---

With the anxiety one would expect from a criminal on death row, Draco obediently followed Lucius into his study, sitting quietly across from the man as he finished checking his email, his after-dinner routine. Normally, Draco would be pissed that his father's work always had to take precedence over every other aspect of his life, even when his son was practically having an aneurysm right in front of him, but... Well, no, he was still pretty pissed.

Feeling defiant, Draco decided that if this confrontation wasn't important to his father, then it meant nothing to him. With that in mind, he sat back in his chair and forced himself to relax, watching his father's clock change gradually and tapping his nails on his armrest with every seconds passing. Adolescent or not, his father's brief annoyed look made it completely worth it.

With the click of his laptop closing, Lucius interlaced his fingers in front of him, giving Draco his undivided attention. It was several tense seconds before he said anything, and when he did, Draco had to force himself not to roll his eyes, which had become a habit after spending so much time with Potter.

"You quit the debate team."

"I did."

"I wasn't asking if you did, Draco, I was asking why. Why would you throw away everything you've worked for on some free rights whim?"

"Father, if you're worried about how it would look on my applications, I think winning the WSDC three years running is impressive enough."

"It isn't, really, compared to the actual experience your competition has under their belts. And technically it was your team that won those debates. Though I can't say I'm not relieved; I half expected you to announce you wanted to become a non-profit lawyer or something as equally frivolous."

To be honest, Draco didn't want to be a lawyer at all. It was three years ago that he'd told his father that was what he wanted to become, partly because he knew that was what Lucius considered a respectable profession and partly because his mother had just taken him to see the musical _Chicago_ and he'd been completely 'razzle dazzled' by the fictitious attorney, Billy Flynn. Plus, he'd inherited his father's talent of winning arguments; what else was he going to be?

"Blasphamy," Draco snorted, trying to somewhat lighten the oppressive atmosphere and failing spectacularly. "I don't know why anyone would assume I'd ever be that selfless."

"I don't know why you do anything anymore," Lucius countered. "Can you imagine what went through my head when I found that article in my in-box? When I saw the photograph of _my son_ taken in a dark alley behind some _bar_? Are you even aware of what could have happened to you?"

"Nothing bad happened."

"Are you saying that it couldn't? Do you have any idea how many _stupid_ children like you go off into the night and never make it home? And as if the first one wasn't enough, I had to see you on the news coming out of a seedy dance club -I'm not even going to mention what kind it was- with _that boy_ hanging over you like he was-" Lucius cut himself off before he could say it. With a lethal look aimed in Draco's direction, he took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. "Merlin is not some small town where everyone has nice cars and pays their taxes, Draco. There are criminals out there who would jump at the slimmest of opportunities."

"I am fully capable of taking care of myself," Draco stated firmly. _Why_ did no one seem to understand that?

Lucius' eyes were intense. "What would you have done, then, if someone came out of nowhere and put a gun to your head?"

Draco scoffed. "Father-"

"No, tell me: what would you have done?" Lucius insisted.

"It wasn't as if I was alone."

"Oh, I am perfectly aware of the company you've been keeping, Draco, believe me," Lucius told him, none too happy about the fact. "And therein lies the problem. This boy, this... Potter person."

Wanting to keep Potter as much out of this conversation as possible, Draco interrupted before his father could even get started. "It wasn't just Harry. All of my roommates were there." That is, only the first time, but Draco thought it wise to leave that part out.

Lucius' eyes narrowed at that. "That's another thing. The dormitory? Last year it was filled with nothing but flea-bitten rejects -your words, Draco- and this year your living there? What on earth could've changed your mind?"

Draco said nothing. He wasn't blaming his mother for this.

The silence made Lucius suspicious, and his eyes narrowed with it. "Or should I say who?"

"I thought it was time for a change," was Draco's noncommittal explanation.

"Did you," his father replied easily, then snorted. "Do you take me for a complete fool?"

Draco's brow furrowed. "I don't know what you mean."

"Of course you don't," was Lucius' incredulous response. "For someone as smart as you are, you're getting awfully good at playing dumb. Do you think I don't know you? Do you think I wouldn't notice your expression in those photographs? You only ever look that innocent when you're trying to get away with something. I'd really thought you'd have learned by now."

Damn it, did everyone know he did that? First Snape, now his father? This was bad. Draco was hoping his father would come to his own conclusions and all he would have to do was not deny them, but now that Lucius knew he was planning something, he wanted confirmation, and that was something Draco couldn't bring himself to do.

"And that boy, that..." Lucius practically seethed, close to ranting now. "I distinctly recall telling you I didn't want you anywhere near that boy. Or did you not even bother to read the letter I sent you?"

"It's rather difficult to avoid him seeing as I'm living with him, Fa-" Draco cut himself short when his words caught up with him and his father's eyes narrowed almost to slits. 'Living with him?' What a horrible choice of words.

"So I've heard," Lucius said distinctly through his teeth, telling Draco exactly what he thought of _that_ little tidbit of information.

"The dorms really aren't as terrible as I thought they were," Draco tried to explain, knowing that that wasn't what his father was mad about, but not wanting to bring Potter back into the conversation. "And weren't you the one who said I needed to make less enemies, gain connections?"

"Friends in low places isn't exactly what I meant by that," Lucius told him distastefully, looking about three seconds away from rolling his eyes.

Despite himself, Draco felt obligated to defend the raven. "You don't even know him," he argued, his tone suggesting Lucius was being as reasonable as a five-year-old. Did Potter inspire this degree of loyalty from everyone he came into contact with?

"Watch your tone, Draco. Disrespect won't be getting you anywhere you want to be." Lucius' warning tone wasn't one to be argued with. "And I know his type. Sirius Black is a good example of it."

"Harry isn't anything like his godfather." Well, that wasn't really true. They were actually quite alike now that Draco thought about it.

"Regardless," Lucius insisted. "But I'll tell you what, if you want to punish yourself by staying there, suit yourself. I have nothing against it."

"Seriously?"

"Quite. So long as you're willing to stay in a room of my choosing, I'm fine with it."

"Wha- Father!" Draco objected.

"I do not want you associating with him, Draco," Lucius ordered, leaving no question of whom he was speaking. "That boy is nothing but trouble. If he's the only reason you want to stay in the dormitory, then we can find you a new private room. You have but two options here, Draco, none of which include the name Harry Potter."

"Are you honestly taking the _Profit's_ word for it? Father, those articles are lies."

"All of them?" Lucius countered. Draco was silent. "The truth is based on lies, Draco, you should know that."

"Driving a motorcycle doesn't make him a murderer."

"And I suppose you'd know him better than anyone, wouldn't you?"

Draco paused, then answered with more conviction than he knew he had in him. "Yes, I do." It was true, though, Draco supposed. Everything considered, he had to be somewhere in the top three at least.

Lucius was quiet for a moment, incredulous, then wondered aloud, "What could that boy have possibly done to earn this degree of loyalty from my son? You don't even trust the valet."

Draco had to refrain from rolling his eyes at the ancient argument. "Anyone can put on the jacket and call themselves the valet, Father. It happens all the time."

Lucius' lips quirked in amusement, and Draco almost allowed himself to relax when his father sighed his defeat. "Alright, fine. I concede your point. I know nothing substantial about Harry Potter," he admitted, then gave his son a scrutinizing look. "And I'll tell you what. I'll consider letting you stay where you are."

Blinking his surprise, Draco's expression turn suspicious, rightfully so. "On what condition?" he inquired, knowing there was one.

"I want you to tell me what it is you're hoping to achieve with all this press coverage," Lucius made clear. "Afterwards, if I deem your excuse acceptable, I want the privilege of meeting this... friend of yours."

"That's blackmail," Draco commented, eyes never quite meeting his father's.

"Yes, it is," his father agreed lightly with not even a shred of remorse. "I understand you've been trying to tell me something, Draco, and I think I know my son well enough to know he isn't the impulsive, reckless boy that carelessly does as he pleases without so much as considering the consequences of his ill-advised actions. What I don't understand is why. Why would you make yourself out to be someone your not and put that person in the public eye, damaging the entire Malfoy name, just to gain my attention?"

Knowing his father wasn't finished, Draco didn't interrupt. Instead, he sat by compliantly and waited for his turn to speak, but inside the docile image he presented, Draco was near boiling with rage. If he had any question before this moment of where his arrogance came from, his father had just answered it. How dare the man who can't even speak a word to his own son without it being some form of judgement or ridicule think he knows who Draco really is? And maybe the image he'd lead the press to believe isn't exactly true, but it's a hell of a lot closer than Draco Malfoy, his father's perfect son!

"I have my own theories, of course," Lucius continued. "But for your sake, I can only hope they're not true. You know my views on _that_ type of lifestyle choice."

More than anything at that moment, Draco wanted to tell his father he was wrong, that being gay wasn't any kind of choice. And even if it was, why the hell would he _choose_ to go through this mess? Why would anyone?

"But I digress, we're getting too far ahead of ourselves. Do you have an explanation or not?"

And here it was, his moment of reckoning. This was his chance, his opportunity to put all this mess behind him. If he could just say it...

But what would happen if he didn't? After everything, Draco couldn't just go back to the private rooms. Potter, for one, would want an explanation, and if Draco answered honestly, that it was his father's doing, who knows what the raven would do. There was no way he'd just let it go, and with that fighting spirit of his, he'd probably want to speak with Lucius, and the world was likely to cave in on itself if that happened.

Plus, he couldn't leave Potter. Not now. Not when the raven was finally opening up, letting him in despite what he didn't know Draco had put him through. And who would bring him down off his high horse after doing something righteously stupid? Who else had the balls to knock him upside that thick head of his after coming home with bloodied knuckles?

But that just gave him more initiative to be honest. If he told the truth, he wouldn't have to continue with his damnable charade, wouldn't have to lie anymore. Unless Lucius went back on his word, he could stay in the dorms, stay with Potter.

Draco asked himself what Potter would do in his situation, but the raven and himself were just too different for that question to be answered. Potter wasn't a coward, for one; he'd have told the truth way before the situation had the chance of becoming so complicated. So... Okay, Potter would be honest.

All he had to do was say it.

"I, um. I'm..."

Just spit it out.

"You're?" Lucius prompted, a brow raised.

And suddenly the answer was there. This wasn't a question of telling the truth. If Potter was anything, it was talented. What was it that the raven told him? 'I didn't make the rules, I just found the loophole?' When faced with any problem, the raven would never allow himself only two options. He'd do the most unexpected thing he could and fix the problem by thinking outside the box.

"I'm... surprised you haven't figured it out by now," Draco answered in one drawn-out breath, the sly look on his face earning a highly confused look from his father.

"Pardon?"

Draco laughed as if he found something funny, graduating from Coward 101 with honors. "Honestly, Father, I thought you'd never catch on. Didn't you think it was odd that the first article came out directly after you joined the campaign?"

Lucius tilted his head to one side. "What exactly are you trying to imply, Draco? That all this has been for my benefit?"

"The campaign's benefit, really," Draco supplied jovially. "It's common knowledge to anyone that watches the news that the biggest obstacle Mr Riddle has on becoming Merlin's next mayor is that everyone knows his views on homosexuality isn't exactly liberally acceptable. And you can't deny that with every article about me and Potter's supposed relationship, the more accepting the public becomes. Remember that Press Release meeting you had a few weeks ago? Well, Harry and I watched it together and we couldn't have been more delighted to see you turn the situation in the direction we'd hoped."

"Are you telling me that this entire time you've been running about Merlin like a sudden degenerate, this has actually been you way of trying to assist me with my work?"

"Well, this is your first delve into the political gold mine. It wouldn't look good for your first campaign to be anything less than a complete success. Besides, who do you think informed them of where and when exactly we could be found together? Did you think it was just good timing on their part?"

"I see," Lucius stated sceptically. "And what is he getting out of this little scheme of yours?"

Thinking on his feet, Draco came up with the most believable reason someone who didn't actually know the raven would buy.

"Harry was the one to come up with it, actually. And he's a musician, what else would he want out of it? Harry Potter is practically a household name already. You couldn't _buy_ this type of publicity."

"And this is the... proposition you two have come up with?"

"What other proposition were you expecting?" Draco inquired with a manufactured smirked, then laughed. "I suppose our little **preformances** were greater than I anticipated if we had even _you_ fooled into believing there was something going on between us. Honestly, Father, even if I was _that way,_ I think my tastes would be a little more glamorous than motorcycles and downtown dance clubs."

Ouch. Did he just made a reservation for the special Hell or what?

"That must be the most unbelievable story I've ever heard," Lucius declared almost to himself. Draco's hopes were dashed, and his mind raced to come up with something that would make his story more believable, but then he heard his father's sigh and looked up. "However... I do believe this is _exactly_ the kind of thing you would come up with when left to your own devices."

"I happen to think it's brilliant," Draco defended, feigning offense.

"Why would you go to such lengths to help with my job exactly?"

"It wasn't all that difficult, really. A few public appearances here and there with the great revealing of Harry's so-called past and we were practically over-night celebrities. But if you mean why I'd willingly put myself in the presence of that type of people, what can I say? It's the two-thousands, they're everywhere. Might as well get used to them."

"Relatively good intentions or not, I will not allow my son to go gallivanting around Merlin, destroying our namesake, just to influence the result of an election. Selling yourself to the public by participating in homoerotic displays, Draco? It's eerily similar to prostitution."

"Wha-! Did you just call me a prostitute?" Draco asked in disbelief. "Look, it isn't like I'm sleeping with him-"

Lucius cut him off by shaking his head, looking as close to desperate as he ever got. "Don't. Ever. Use those words in a sentence together in my presence again."

Draco sighed, then proceded to sound as convincing as he could. "It's just a few pictures in the tabloids. You have to admit this plan does have it's merits."

"I happen to think it's a marvelous idea," came a new voice from the doorway.

Both generations of Malfoy looked up as Riddle entered the room, and Draco didn't think he'd ever be so relieved to see him. The way with little chit-chat with his father was going, they would've argued back and forth til morning unless someone intervened. Silence prevailed for a moment before Riddle spoke again.

"If you don't mind the intrusion, of course."

"This conversation is over, actually," Lucius announced as he moved to stand.

"Father-!"

"This is the end of it, Draco," Lucius told him firmly. "As we agreed, I'll allow you to stay in the dormitory you're so fixated on staying in, but it would be wise not to push your luck. If I have to hear the name Harry Potter again in reference to a relationship with my son, you may as well consider our contract void."

Draco wanted to scoff. This so-called contract of his father's wasn't nearly as binding as Lucius' threatening tone was making it out to be. All he had to do was wait until he's back in Hogwarts (mutually territory) before trying anything. But until then, it was back to the drawing board with this down-hill plan of his, as it was certainly in need of a few revisions.

"If you want to help with the campaign, however, I haven't a thing against it, but there are more conventional ways of achieving that. I encourage it, as a matter of fact. As long as Mr Riddle agrees, of course."

"Oh, by all means. I think Headquarters could use another Malfoy. How about you lend us your assistance whenever your free from academia?"

"Terrific," Lucius cemented, eager to put an end to this discussion.

"Though I must say, Draco, that idea of yours was quite brilliant," Riddle praised, then continued as if making a proposition. "And you were correct in saying the public is becoming more accepting in leu of those articles."

"I will not allow my son to degrade himself to the world and my family in order to assure more votes. There are ways of doing that without slandering the Malfoy name."

Riddle smiled complacently. "Not to worry, Lucius, I'm far from telling you how to run your own family. I'm only giving credit where credits due. Draco deserves some recognition for such a committed effort, at the very least."

"Yes, well, hopefully he can employ that commitment to more productive exploits in the future," Lucius returned promptly, making his way to the door. "But now I think some sleep is in order. Draco, don't stay up too late. We have something in the way of punishment to discuss in the morning."

This only received a lone nod from Draco. The 'punishments' Lucius enforced usually always had something to do with Draco losing access to material objects. Knowing his father, there would not be an encore this year to the annual winter ball after-party Draco had thrown on his father's yacht since he was a niner.

"That's too bad," Riddle sighed in the wake of Lucius' departure. "Your clever shenanigans were prompting a significant spike in the female and gay demos."

"Were they really?" Draco inquired. Those articles had absolutely nothing to do with the campaign, and the last thing Draco wanted was to help this man become mayor. He'd merely been bluffing before when he said how he knew the public was becoming more accepting because of him.

"Indeed," Riddle confirmed, giving the blonde a sly, knowing glance, the kind someone only gives you when they've uncovered an intriguing secret. That look was prequel to blackmail, and the dread was almost enough to send Draco reeling. "Not that you would know."

"Excuse me?"

The door clicked as Riddle nudged it shut, insurance that what he said next would be said in privacy. Draco suddenly saw red flags going up all over the place when Riddle sat down beside him, nonchalantly turned to face him. "Your father isn't a man easily fooled, Draco. One of the many aspects of his job is to exploit others' secrets, and for that to be possible he has to be adept at sniffing them out. That story I just happened to overhear you spinning, while admittedly impressive, was implausible enough to leave him suspicious. That is, if he were so inclined to not believe you. As it is, Lucius is your father, and when it comes down to their childrens' misgivings, all parents have an inherent desire to remain blissfully ignorant. It's probably the only thing that allows them the luxury of sleeping at night."

_'People will hear what they want to hear.'_

That was Potter's voice in his head, cementing the words falling from Riddle's tongue as if confirming a suspicion Draco never knew he had.

"I, however, have never had such an inclination."

"I-"

"You don't have to justify your reasons to me, Draco," Riddle assured, his hand now patting Draco's shoulder. "I've been there. Believe me when I tell you I know what it's like to have a workaholic father who wants to control every aspect of his son's life as if only an extension of himself. Your reasons are your own; you don't have to explain a thing."

"I wasn't planning to," Draco informed, trying to remove the man's hand from his shoulder without it coming off as rude. "What I was going to ask was whether or not this is your attempt to blackmail me."

Riddle merely laughed at his bluntness, making Draco feel childish and paranoid. "Of course not. I like you too much to put you in that type of position. I would, however, like to ask for your assistance."

"Then it is blackmail."

"I see someone has taken my reputation to heart," Riddle joked before giving the blond beside him an earnest look. "I know of the rumors surrounding my name, Draco, and let me take this opportunity to set them straight. I may be guilty of stretching the truth and not playing fair when it comes to my ambitions and taking my job too seriously, but other than that you'll come to find that I'm quite the honest man. Blackmail without retribution is what you can call it, since you're so intent on applying the word, but as it stands, I'm only asking a favour of you. A favour in which you have every right to refuse, no questions asked. But before you decide, I want you to fully understand what it is I'm asking of you."

"I understand perfectly. You want me to continue with this 'modern day lovestory' charade the press has cooked up despite my father's wishes in order to further your campaign."

"You were planning on doing so regardless, were you not?" Riddle innocently pointed out. When Draco didn't refute his prediction, Riddle patted his back and stood. "Whatever you decide is your decision, of course. Don't think I'm pressuring you, Draco, for the guilt would surely consume me. You have no obligation to consider the information I obtained tonight and let it influence your choice. Regardless of what you plan to do, I will guard your secret as though it were my own, you have my word," Riddle promised, a hand over his heart and oh-so convincing.

Draco wasn't buying it, but watching Riddle as he made his leave, Draco had to admit he was befuddled. Why on earth would a man like Riddle choose to keep his secret without using it to his avantage? To buy his trust, maybe? But why would he need it? By not using his secret as blackmail, it was like he was doing _Draco_ a favour, and that made it impossible not to let Riddle influence his choice.

But of course he was going to continue with his plan. As long as Lucius was in the dark about his son's sexuality, Draco would continue spelling it out for him. And after that, if he still wanted to remain blissfully ignorant, as Riddle put it, Draco would just have to do something that left no other explanation.

Riddle was a wild card, there was no question about it, but then so was everyone. The risk of outside deviation of his plan was completely dependent on Draco's ability to control the people who could be considered liabilities. He was content to wait and see whether Riddle's part in the equation would turn out to be beneficial or not.

---

Jumping over fences was not as easy as it looked on TV. It was fucking difficult is what it was. If you have no experience with it, don't be surprised to fall on your ass or in a prickly bush, which was just frustrating when you're trying to be as quiet as possible. It was even more frustrating when the neighborhood you're in doesn't have fences, but huge, rock-solid walls to create the semblance of privacy. Even more frustrating than that was when you're wearing brand spanking new, uncomfortably restricting pants. Then there was the patrol cars that kept circling, keeping watch for suspicious characters that he'd imagine looked a lot like him.

All in all, Harry'd done a very shitty job at infultraiting Malfoy Manor. Finding it wasn't difficult at all, but not because it was listed. (It wasn't; he'd checked.) The return address on one of Narcissa's care packages narrowed it down a little, though, and after that the carved boulder declaring 'Malfoy Manor' in front of the place was a big tip-off. The neighborhood, however, looked like the kind that would call the cops if they ever saw a motorcycle, so Harry had to leave his bike parked out of sight and behind the border to what seemed like another country. There were plenty of artfully placed shrubs and hedges to duck behind in the event of a passing resident or patrol car, but the houses were so widely spread it was a hell of a long trek. His new boots were giving him blisters, his fingers were numb from the cold, and he really wished he'd had the good sense to change back into his normal clothes before doing this.

By some divinemercy, though, the second story had a surrounding balcony divided into sections about three feet apart, so it was pretty simple if you were quiet and didn't have any particular problem with heights. Another small miracle was that both sides of the structure was practically nothing but appropriately climbable vine trellis, which Harry figured had to be this seasons newest accessory since the last five houses he'd passed all had the same. It was kind of a bittersweet victory, though, because it was home to some vicious type of vine covered in thorns that had him muffling curses that anybody could hear as he made his way up. And really, wasn't the cliche of climbing someone's balcony punishment enough?

It was surprisingly easy to decipher which balcony was Draco's, as it was the only one with an ashtray. Not having much in the way of fingernails, he tapped on the glass with the new silver ring adorning his thumb, another little piece of fashion he was uncomfortably unused to wearing. He tried not to groan at the sight of his black nail polish and, once he heard the sounds of cautious footsteps approaching, stepped back into the shadows on the off chance he'd gotten the wrong balcony. The last thing he needed was Lucius Malfoy opening that sliding glass door and catching him here, especially looking the way he was. He wondered if the man owned a gun, but didn't have the time to dwell on it as Draco's face appeared through the glass, the door opening a crack when the blond didn't see anybody.

"Who's there?"

"A serial murderer with a machete here to lop off that unsuspecting head of yours. Don't you watch scary movies? Never ask who's there. And was that door even locked?"

"Potter?" Draco questioned in bewilderment, switching on the balcony light and squinting out into the night, opening the door a bit wider as Harry came into view.

"You were expecting someone else?"

"What are you doing here?

"I- What are you wearing?" There was a flash of white curtain, and suddenly Draco's defensive face was the only part of his body visible.

"Nothing."

"Believe me, Draco, I'd be a lot less surprised if you actually were wearing nothing. Is that a dress?"

"Of course it isn't, you idiot. Why would I be wearing a dress?"

Harry's expression said he was wondering the same. "I don't know, but it looks like a dress... And it's pink."

"It's _peach_. And it's _not_ a dress, it's a sleeping gown."

"Ohhh. A gown. Yeah, that's much better."

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Potter. Now I'm going to ask you again: What are you doing here?"

"Could you let me in first? I'm freezing my nips off out here."

"Do people really say that? 'Freezing my nips off?'"

"Draco!" Harry hissed.

"Fine, fine."

"What took you so long? I had to walk like, miles and jump over walls. If I have to have my fingers amputated, I'm blaming you."

"How was I suppose to know it was you? You could've just as easily been a burglar."

"Yeah, 'cause all burglers have the decency to knock," Harry laughed, then gave a placating look to Draco's glare. "Don't worry, I'm not here to _burgle_ you. Don't you have a fireplace in here or something?"

At the sudden switch of topics, Draco knew the raven wasn't going anywhere or explaining anything anytime soon, so he admitted defeat with a sigh and the customary roll of his eyes. "I suppose if you can be quiet and know how to work a coffee machine we can go down to the kitchens."

"You don't know how to make coffee?" Harry marveled, then patted Draco's head when the blond gave him that 'last straw' look he was prone to getting when Harry veered of topic with something stupid that inevitably made him feel defensive. Harry'd meant the head-pat to be cajoling, but he didn't realize the action itself couldn't be interpreted as anything but condescending. "Sorry," he apologize, for both the salt-on-the-burn question and the accidentally demeaning gesture, then shrugged acceptingly through his disappointment. "I was kind of expecting a fireplace, but okay. Lead the way."

---

"I thought a former member of the working class would know how to operate household appliances."

"Says the guy wearing a dress," Harry quipped, smacking the thing upside what would've been it's head if it had one, which didn't exactly make it work. It did give a little cough, though, and Harry interpreted that as progress. "And FYI, this thing is a travesty to coffee makers everywhere. It looks like it was made by NASA or something."

"Just don't break it."

"What's this part do?" Whack.

"Potter! Didn't I just say not to break it? My mother goes ballistic without her morning cappuccino."

"Relax. It goes back on, see? Plus, I don't think appliances created by Satan can be broken without an exorcist and holy water." Smack. "Know any virgins we can offer it as a sacrifice?"

Draco thought it a good time to switch topics.

"Never mind what I'm wearing, what are _you_ wearing?"

"Oh, uh, Zach and me went shopping earlier. A pre-Black Friday kinda thing."

The first question that came to Draco's mind was along the lines of who paid for this excursion, but the answer was obvious. Plus, he figured that would seem sort of irrelevant to Potter, so he settled on more criticism.

"And let me guess, this particular outfit wasn't one of your choosing?"

Harry gave an embarrassed little chuckle over his shoulder. "That obvious?"

Draco gave him another glance-over. From the complicated-looking boots, skinny jeans and studded belt to the psuedo-fashionably ripped, stripped top, leather aviator jacket, gothic accessories and even more chaotic than usual, gelled hair, Potter looked like he was doing a really bad impression of himself. Was this really what Smith wanted Potter to be? "You could say that."

"I like the jacket," the raven offered as if in compensation for not liking anything else.

"Professor Lupin and your godfather don't mind him staying over on Thanksgiving then?"

"Who, Zach?" Draco nodded. "Zach's not staying with me. Where'd you hear that?"

"Just... some annoying Junior," Draco replied honestly, mentally cursing the lying little fuckwad for playing with his head.

"He lives with his brother, their parents came down for the holidays. I told him none of us were really big on Thanksgiving, but he brought over some of this... Tofurkey stuff he made anyway," Harry explained, then made a face and stuck out his tongue like he could still taste it. "He's a vegan."

"Didn't like it?" Draco inquired with a smirk. Strangely, knowing Potter didn't have a very happy Thanksgiving made Draco feel considerably better.

Harry made another face. "I think he's trying to recruit me or something. _Sirius_ couldn't even stomach it, and this is the man who enjoys eating pickled pigs feet."

"Oh, sick."

"I know," Harry agreed, giving the chrome machine a final whack before giving up. "Okay, forget the coffee."

"I could find you some hot cocoa," Draco offered, though he didn't have the vaguest idea of where to start. He supposed this was the bad side of being forever catered to.

"Naw, don't worry about it. Just get over here," Harry requested, pulling Draco to him by his sleeve until he was as close as possible. But as Potter went to bury himself in Draco's neck, his arms already going around his waist, Draco made a move to pull away. He didn't get very far.

"What's the matter?" Harry inquired, taking a quick glance around just in case someone had stumbled in on them.

Draco didn't actually have an answer to that, or at least not one he could tell Potter. He couldn't very well explain that every time Potter touched him, treated him as if he was someone the raven could come to for comfort, he was actually pushing the knife in that much deeper. He couldn't say how scared he was of get even closer to this boy than he was already in fear of how much it'll hurt when whatever relationship they had inevitably came to a close. Instead, Draco just shook his head.

"Nothing," he answered, allowing the raven to snuggle into his body heat, forcibly ignoring the satisfied hum the raven issued at the warmth of his skin. Carding his fingers through midnight hair in the vain attempt of smoothing it down, Draco heaved a resigned sigh. "This is just like you, Potter. Sneaking into my house in the middle of the night and forcing me to cuddle."

In retaliation, Potter's frozen fingertips met the warm patch of skin behind his ears, making Draco jump. "Jesus, Potter, you really are freezing," the blond told him like a reprimand for not dressing warmer, covering the raven's hands with his own and moving them to the warmth of his face to get them back to a semi-normal temperature. This brought him and Potter face to face, and Draco resolutely ignored the steady stare the other boy was giving him.

"I thought I already established that."

"I thought you were exaggerating. Motorcycles don't have heaters, you idiot, and you have to go and drive all the way out here in the snow." Potter just smiled at the scolding, burying his nose into Draco's hair like that was what it was there for, and for awhile they just stood like that, waiting patiently for the warmth to spread. After the excuse to linger was long passed, Draco thought it wise to usher them both back upstairs before someone decided to come down for a midnight snack.

"I gotta say, I'm pretty disappointed with the famous Malfoy Manor," Harry mentioned on their way back upstairs, Draco having refused to let him play with the elevator.

Draco smirked. "You were expecting a castle?"

"Guard dogs and barbed wire at the very least," Harry confirmed, only half-kidding. "Maybe a mote."

Draco snorted. "So sorry to disappoint."

"It's as big as I expected," Harry noted with on-the-other-hand intent. He shrugged. "Just kind of empty."

Mentally agreeing, the blond caught a glimpse of a hallway clock. "It's midnight already. Won't someone be looking for you?"

Harry shook his head, opening the door he remembered was to Draco's bedroom and gesturing the blond in first. "They probably don't even know I'm gone."

"You really shouldn't be here, you know that," Draco told him in warning, imagining the expression Lucius would've held if he'd entered the kitchens at precisely the wrong moment and caught Potter in the Manor in the middle of the night, snuggling up to his son like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be doing. Especially when their father to son chat ended only hours beforehand.

"Is that your way of telling me to leave?" Harry asked, falling back onto Draco's much-too-big bed with a sigh.

"If I wanted you to leave, I'd have no trouble saying so," Draco said, then realized he might as well have said he wanted Potter to stay. "I just think I deserve an explanation for why you're here in the first place."

"Do you know why they call it Black Friday?"

Draco let out an aggravated sigh. "Potter."

"When I was ten, my uncle told me Black Friday was the day the stock market crashed in the nineteen-twenties. He said it was when all the snotty rich investors lost all their money and committed mass suicide, jumping out of windows and hanging themselves, that the streets were lined with bodies falling out of the sky. He told me everybody goes shopping on Black Friday now to celebrate the 'good riddance.' Then he locked me underneath the stairs."

Unsure of how surprised he should be, Draco moved to sit next to where Potter was sprawled. "Why would he do that?"

"I asked if I could go shopping with them," Harry told him, then shrugged off the bitterness and sighed. "Guess he didn't want me coming."

"Potter, Wall Street crashed back then in October, not the day after Thanksgiving. I mean, some investors did commit suicide, but most of it was just media frenzy. It isn't even a real holiday."

"Well, I know that _now_, but I was ten back then. I was devastated thinking people would actually celebrate something like that. But you wanna know the really fucked up part? I'm completely convinced my uncle believed almost every word he told me."

"Ignorance," Draco commented. What can you do?

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I don't know. Even though I know what he said isn't true, I always get kind of depressed around Thanksgiving."

And it had nothing to do with Black Friday, Draco decided. More likely, it was that Potter didn't have much to be thankful for, didn't have a real family to spend it with. Whatever it was, Draco found it all too easy to empathize.

"I really thought this year would be different, you know? I mean, I finally have some things to be thankful for. I'm away from my relatives, I'm on my own and I actually have some friends now. Real friends. Maybe it's just a residual side-effect or something."

There was a comtemplative silence before Draco decided to ask a question that had been on his mind since that night in the computer lab.

"Should I have something to be worried about with you?"

"Hm? What do you mean?"

Draco shrugged uneasily. "With all this talk about suicide..." And that song...

Jumping up from where he was lying, Harry's eyes were wide. "What? No! Jesus! I'm _sad_, Draco, not suicidal."

"Well, excuse me for caring!"

Harry's incredulity died out at that. "You don't gotta worry about me," he promised.

"I wasn't worried," Draco scoffed predictably. "You can go jump off a bridge for all I care."

"Uh-huh," Harry grinned agreeably, prompting a resigned sigh from the blond next to him.

"Why are you here, Potter?" Draco asked for the last time.

"I wanted to see you."

"It's only been-"

"I know." The raven looked oddly embarrassed, and he forced his tone to sound teasing and sarcastically grand to disclaim his words. "What can I say, Draco? You've become my only solace in the face of calamity, your mere presence a balm to my tragical soul, an angel in the casualty that is my life. Woe is the day the absence of your visage leaves me but a hollow shell of the man your light once gave meaning."

"You really need to stop reading poetry, Romeo," Draco advised before the raven could spout off with something potentially hazardous to his health.

Harry snorted. "Says the guy in the-"

"Would you shut up about the damn dress-"

Harry laughed. "I thought you said it wasn't a dress? Ouch. Would you- Ow! Would you quit it? I'm sorry for making fun of the dress!"

Draco crossed his arms in a huff. "Remember how I said I'd tell you if I wanted you to leave? Well, I'm saying it."

Rubbing his abused head and face area, Harry let out a dramatically disappointed sigh and stood. "It's just as well. I should probably be getting some sleep anyway."

Taken off guard, Draco blinked, standing along with him. "What? You're leaving?"

"Don't get me wrong," Harry said. "I'd love to see your dad's face when he finds me in bed with you in the morning. I'd probably wake up to a shotgun under my chin."

"My father doesn't come into my room," Draco told him, causing Harry to turn back at the odd tone of his voice.

It sounded like an offer.

"Still," the raven said, trying and failing not to sound awkward in the midst of dangerous territory. "You know. Don't want my bike getting towed."

Barely one foot out the sliding glass door, Harry turned back, guilty for a reason he couldn't ascertain. "Hey," he said, lifting Draco's chin to get the blond to look at him. He smiled. "You know you're my favorite, right?" Draco had to roll his eyes, but not wanting the raven to push it, he nodded anyway. "And keep this door locked," Harry told him, looking back over his shoulder when Draco didn't confirm. "Draco?"

"Yeah, yeah. I don't need a bodyguard, you know."

Looking back at the blonde with an adoring smile, Harry couldn't pinpoint what exactly made him do it. Maybe because he had climbed Draco's balcony in the dead of night and it just felt appropriate, maybe because Draco looked a little happier as well standing there in his gown-that-wasn't-a-dress, Harry did something selfish. Whatever the reason, pressing his lips to the other boy's in a quick, soft peck, Harry couldn't regret it if wanted to.

Draco would surely interpret it as a playful whim of his, he reflected later, something only Harry would do that requiredno forethought, a spontaneous action without any deeper meaning. The equivalent of a relative's kiss, maybe. Any third party would've seen it as a lover's goodbye, sequel to a secret rendezvous. And, Harry... Well, Harry tried to convince himself the truth was Draco's interpretation of it. The thing with taking apart anything was you had to know what to do with the pieces afterwards, and Harry didn't, so he tried not to over-analyse it.

But he hadn't being kidding, hadn't been teasing, when he said Draco was his favorite. It just meant a lot more than Draco thought it did.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Favorite: Noun. A person or thing regarded with peculiar favor; something preferred above all others and treated with partiality; a special loved one; especially, one unduly loved and trusted. This is everything Draco is to Harry in one word. Too bad Draco took it as an adjective.

Wow, these chapter just keep getting longer and longer, don't they? And by the way, this chapter has been finished for a while now, but when I went to upload, I started having some trouble with the preview/edit function. Please let me know if any of you were having the same problem or if it was just me.

Anyway, tell me what you think! Review!


	21. Like Bomb Threats

**Rating:** Mature.

**Warning:**Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness. Drug use.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or the songs mentioned in this chapter.

* * *

**Previously...**

Draco's Aunt Bella made an unexpected appearance at the annual Malfoy Thanksgiving, accompanied by her new fiance, Tom Riddle. This sparked a confrontation between Draco and his father which ended in Draco chickening out of his confession and Lucius making a deal that ultimately allowed his son to stay in the dorms. Later, Harry made a surprise visit to Malfoy Manor that ended in an even more surprising exit.

* * *

**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**Like Bomb Threats**

* * *

Back at school, it seemed Jack Frost had swept over Merlin with jumbo bag of powdered sugar, answering the call of an icy December. The entire town was covered by one thick sheet of glistening white, and in celebration of this beautiful season, Merlin was being decorated accordingly. Mistletoe and tacky Christmas lights, wreathes and even tackier lawn displays. Not one lamppost was missing a gaudy red bow. Jolly as it was, the climate was hell on Draco's hair. Thank God for leave-in conditioner.

There were only a few weeks left of the year, and it felt like a never ending Friday for Draco, like the bell couldn't ring fast enough. With a week of classes standing between now and the winter ball, and after that the impending threat of 'helping out with the campaign', as his father had put it, then Christmas and New Years, Draco just wanted the year to stop procrastinating and get over with already. He didn't want to deal with all the bullshit the last month surely had to offer.

But what Draco couldn't anticipate was that in the mist of all the crap that awaited him like a promise, something good would happen, marking the end of all of this stupid uncertainty and hesitation he'd been facing since the day he'd met Harry Potter. Sooner than Draco would expect, the feud between him and Zacherias Smith would reach it's climax, sparking a desicion the blonde should've made with arms open in acceptance the first time he noticed how perfect his hand fit in the raven's.

But Draco didn't know that yet.

The first night back at Hogwarts after Thanksgiving break, Potter was completely AWOL. The raven wasn't the type of guy to take off alone without telling anyone, and in knowing that, nobody was too worried. But when McGonnagal made her rounds at curfew and the roommates of dorm room number sixty-six had to cover for him, their expressions ranged from openly concerned to mildly agitated.

When the raven finally did make his appearence, his roommates were already asleep and it was only a handful of hours before he was expected to be in class. Being a naturally light sleeper and closest to the door, Draco was awoken to the sounds of someone struggling to get inside and the voices of more than one person. Pulling his curtains aside, Draco listened intently as a set of keys were dropped twice before the locked clicked and the door was nudged open awkwardly with a foot. Then there was Potter and the last person Draco wanted to see, laughing in the dark as the raven piggy-backed him into the room. Potter was wearing a cowboy hat.

"I don't know why so many people have a problem with breath play," Zach said in a slur, kicking his legs impatiently and making the raven's job of carrying him as difficult as possible. "That's why I like you so much, Harry. You're not afraid to tread the line."

"Oh, yeah, I'm real edgy," Harry said sarcastically in reply to his inhebriated companion. "Try to be quiet, would you? I don't want to wake everyone up to you listing your kinks."

"A little too late for that, Potter," Draco said, making his state of semi-consciousness known and standing up. It put him in a bad mood, how he was forced to be 'that guy' every time Potter and Smith were together, the designated bad guy, the one set out to kill any kind of fun to be had. Groggy, he took in the sight of the multiple stamps on both of their hands, one on top of the other.

"Uh-oh! Looks like we're busted, Clyde," Zach joked. Harry gave Draco a sheepish smile, silently apologizing for how shit-faced and annoying the Junior was acting.

"What is he on?" Draco inquired only half sarcastically, watching with a sneer as Smith snickered riotously over nothing.

"Nothing," Harry claimed, innocent as a newborn lamb.

"Scarecrow, scarecrow, what's that you poppin'?" Zach sang, nipping at Harry's neck. "Well, that and too many Cowboy Cocksuckers."

"Then why is it that I don't believe you?" Draco asked, pretending Smith han't said a word.

Harry sighed, giving Zach's leg a sound smack before dislodging the Junior from his back. The younger boy landed heavily on the couch in a pile of demented giggles. They disipated within seconds, and after that the boy seemed content to lie back with his eyes closed and start humming.

"Sorry, dollface," Harry apologized to Draco with a smartass tip of his cowboy hat and a fake Texan accent. As annoyed as the blonde was with him, Draco was loathed to admit it was sexy. The bastard. "It was Wild West night at Corruptio. He's a real lightweight." Pushing the hair off Draco's face like he was checking for a fever, Harry planted a kiss on the blonde's forehead as if in passing before heading over to his bureau to grab a uniform for tomorrow, leaving his hat on Draco's head as if it was a souveniere. "We'll be outta here in a second. Go back to sleep."

Draco could've punched him.

Now, this wasn't a territorial, I-was-here-first, the-boy-is-mine thing on Draco's part. Sure, he knew himself well enough to know that he'd probably reject anyone Potter was involved with, anyone Potter was interested in at all, but the fact that it was Smith just made it unbearably worse. The Junior was a manipulative, deceptive, two-faced con-artist, and that wasn't even the worst of it. No, what really made Draco pissed was how Potter could meet someone who looked eerily similar to Draco himself and let himself be suckered into some seriously fucked-up relationship, almost immediately jumping into bed with him. It made him want to scream in frustration.

He and Smith weren't that different from each other, was the thing. They looked kind of alike, as anyone could tell, but it went a bit deeper than that. They had the same wit, the same grace, the same hidden vunerability and neediness that made Potter go all hero and protective. Draco, however, didn't have anything to prove, unlike his counterpart.

Draco wasn't the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. He didn't get mushy feelings and cry into his pillow at night. He had more pride than that. But Draco had to admit it. While Potter wasn't choosing Smith over him, it sure as hell felt like it. And it hurt more than Draco could've possibly anticipated.

So, the question Draco was left with was this: What did Smith have that Draco was somehow lacking? Draco hadn't the slightest clue, but in Potter's wacked-out perspective, it could be anything. Knowing the answer had to be in their differences, though, that's where Draco started, and after much contemplation, he was able to accumulate an annoyingly short list.

In the looks department, Draco wasn't modest enough to lie; he won hands-down. Where he was thin in a healthy, willowy way, Smith was bordering bulimia to a degree where he could rival Paris Hilton in the competition for World's Skinniest Whore. But, who knows, Draco could be a bit biased. Confident as he was, Draco was entitled to moments of insecurity. Smith had softer features than he did, less severe. Maybe that's what Potter wanted, but Draco didn't think so. He didn't think their appearences had anything to do with it, as Potter was pretty open about telling Draco he was flawless.

Personality wise, Draco wasn't as confident. He and Potter's individualities were on opposite sides of the equator. Blaise was right; they bickered and fought more than an old married couple. Draco liked to think it was sexual tension, but the fact was, Potter annoyed the hell out of him on a regular basis and vice versa. Smith was probably the same way behind Potter's back, but to his face, he was more than happy to go along with whatever Potter said.

So, no. There wasn't anything Smith had that Draco didn't, as far as he could tell. And if it was one of those things that only made sense to Potter, which wouldn't be surprising, Draco was back to square one. Not knowing was something he could learn to tolerate, but Potter coming home half-drunk with the little shithead super-glued to his back like a drugged-up, sexually deprived bookbag was something that made Draco want to strangle something.

They were so _wrong_for eachother it was practically maddening! Potter didn't need anyone agreeing with him. Hell, half the things Potter said were half-insane to start with. If anything, Potter needed someone to set him straight, someone to remind him of the little thing called logic when he was too worked-up and emotional to use common sense. There was no telling the kind of trouble Potter could get himself into with Smith, without someone there to take care of him and smack him when he did something stupid but with the best of intentions. Mostly, Potter needed someone he could take care of, someone who wasn't afraid to fight over the small stuff, someone who could understand him if with a whole lot practice.

That someone could never be Smith.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, noticing Draco's expression. Before Draco could answer, however, Zach launched himself out from a cracks in the floorboards and onto the raven's back, making Harry stumble a bit before regaining his balance.

"He's just jealous that you're spending the night with me," Zach informed smugly. The words 'instead of him' weren't said but were heard nevertheless.

"Don't be stupid," Harry scoffed, then turned to Draco with uncertainty. "Are you?"

"Oh, dream on," Draco told him, empathetic. "His few remaining brain cells are drowning in alcohol. It's a miracal he can form complete sentences."

"Dream on? Don't flatter yourself," the Junior told him condesendingly. "If he's dreaming of anyone, he's dreaming of me. But anyway, gitty up, Harry. We can go to my room where I can _really_ ride you."

That surprised a laugh from Harry, but the mental images were almost crippling for Draco. And as the raven turned toward his desk for his school bag, Smith threw a smug look over his shoulder at the other blond, his eyes hooded heavily with whatever he'd been taking. At his breaking point, Draco actually felt something snap in him. The next thing he knew he was reaching forward and snatching at Smith's jacket with such force that the younger blonde was jarred completely from Potter's back, eyes going wide with alarm a second too late. Draco regreted the violent action before Smith even hit the ground, but the abortion came too late, because both Potter and himself jumped at the sharp crack that sounded in the room as Smith's head knocked one of the bulky posters of the raven's bed.

"Shit!" Potter hissed, dropping to his knees to help the fallen blonde. Blood-shot green eyes shot up to glare at Draco in disbelief. "Fuck, Draco! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Despite being half-panicked, Draco went on defense automatically, taking several steps back. "What's wrong with _me_?! He's treating you like a walking dildo and _I'm_ the one with the problem?!"

Zach's eyes fluttered opened, his expression confused but calm. "What happened?"

"Try not to move," Harry distractedly requested, carding through blonde hair and looking for the slightest sign of blood.

"What's going on?" the now half-awake Seamus murmmered, squinting out from behind his half-closed curtains. Dean could be seen sitting up in bed behind him, shirtless and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Go back to sleep, Seamus. Everything's fine," Harry answered, focused completely on his task.

Draco shot him a look of disbelief. "Everything is _not_ fine! You disappear without a word, just expecting us to cover for you, and come back, Mr Feel Nothing in tow, so high he can't even walk straight? Use your goddamn brain, Potter. What do you think my problem is?"

Harry's incredulous expression mirrored Draco's own. "So you take it out on Zach? He probably has a concussion now because of you!"

"Oh, boo-fucking-hoo, Potter. It's not like he can feel it anyway."

"Fuck you, psycho," Zach spat out of pure aggravation, reminding the arguing two that he was still present. Harry looked kind of taken aback at this seemingly new side of Zach.

Draco gave the other blonde a withering look. "Fuck yourself, mutant. I don't want herpes."

"Hey! Would both of you just shut up?" came the return of Seamus' voice, this time right beside them. "Here," he told Harry, holding out a bottle of Mountain Dew, cold beads of condensation clinging to the green plastic. Harry had to stare at it for a moment, wondering just how he'd conjured it and why it was being handed to him, before remembering that the Irishman had brought a miniature refridgerator back with him from Thanksgiving break and that Zach's bump on the head probably needed to be put on ice. The raven made a note to compliment Seamus later on his resourcefulness in times of panic.

"It's not bleeding," Harry informed whoever wanted to know, pressing the bottle to where he guessed was the place of impact. "You okay there? How's your head feeling?"

"Congenital analgia, Harry. I can't feel anything," Zach reminded him in a sigh, taking over icing his head.

"Right, uhh. Well, are your ears ringing? Is your vision blurry? Are you dizzy?"

"A little, but I don't know. I was dizzy before I was _assalted_," Zach answered, that last part aimed directly at Draco.

Seamus blinked as if he couldn't quite believe he'd heard that correctly. "You _hit_ him?" he asked Draco, eyes wide in astonishment and torn somewhere between approval and it's antonym.

"No," Draco answered, and technically speaking, he wasn't lying. It wasn't like he'd _meant_ to hurt him. Not really.

"Might as well have," Harry commented without looking at him. "Sit there for a minute and don't move," he told Zach before standing. He suddenly sounded exhausted. "Seamus, could you please sit with him for a second?"

"No problem, Harry."

Draco's eyes widened innocently when Potter grabbed his elbow, pulling him into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. After a few seconds of the raven just staring at him expectantly, Draco sighed in frustration. "Jesus, Potter. What?"

"'What?'" Harry echoed in disbelief. "Do you have any kind of conscience at all? You just tried to split Zach's skull open and that's all you can say?"

"What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry?" Draco scoffed, imperious and guiltless. He couldn't stand how disappointed Potter sounded in him. "Because, believe it or not, Potter, you're _not_ my father. You have no right trying make me say please and thank you, much less apologize to someone who had it coming in the first place."

Harry pulled at his hair, pinching the spot between his eyes as if warding off a headache. "I'm not sober enough to deal with you."

"Excuse me? I'm not something that needs to be 'dealt with'. Who do you think you are?"

"I didn't mean it like that."

Draco narrowed his eyes at the raven in speculation. "You drove your bike back didn't you?"

"What? Yeah. What does that-"

"You made me ride in a taxi, Potter, because you said we were going to be drinking. You weren't half as wasted as you are now. Are you _trying_ to get a DUI?"

"That's completely different," Harry scoffed. "You were with me then."

"How is that different? You're not making any sense, stupid!"

"Stop trying to make this about us," Harry told him, practically shouting, because after trying to bash Zach's skull open, he wasn't too sure Draco was aware of this. "What's going on with me and Zach has nothing to do with you and me. I'm not going to make you say sorry-"

"Good! Because I'm not," Draco righteously proclaimed. "I didn't intend to give him a concussion, but that doesn't change the fact that I think it's a shame he couldn't feel it. Other than that... I'm not sorry at all."

Harry let out a long-suffering sigh. "I get it, okay? You don't like Zach."

"Really?" Draco exclaimed with a sarcastic laugh. "Did you _just_ pick up on that, Potter? Because here's another little tidbit of news for you: I'm not the only one. Nobody in this entire school can stand him either. He's an insufferable little prick and I hate him!"

Harry took a second to marvel at how uncharacteristically huffy and childish Draco seemed at that moment, like a spoiled brat forced to take a nap. It was unusual for Draco to show so much emotion, so Harry knew this had to be something really bothering the blond. Nevertheless, Draco must've realized how immature he sounded because the blonde's cheeks started to take on that unmistakeable pink hue. Not wanting to call him on it and embarrass him any further, Harry decided to take a different route.

"Did you know that he has to take his temperature every few hours?" he asked seemingly out of nowhere. "He has to test his bathwater with a thermometer so he doesn't accidentally _cook_himself. The soccer coach won't let him be on the field for more than twenty minutes at a time because of how easily he can overheat -and he had to petition for that much. He can't sweat. He has to go to the bathroom at regular intervals because his body can't tell when he needs to piss. He's so skinny because he can never tell when he's hungry. He's been to the ER so many times his medical history would spand this entire country. It's a miracal he's still alive. So, please, forgive him if his outlook on the world isn't exactly the brightest."

"So he's your charity case," Draco said like it was all begining to make sense, like that's the only way it would.

"No!" Harry exclaimed vemenantly, insulted the blonde would even think of him that way and annoyed that Draco just wasn't getting it. "No," he repeated, this time quieter.

"You're such a hypocrite, defending him like this." Draco shook his head in mock-disapproval. "If he has to be so careful, then why are you taking him out to clubs, drinking and getting high together? That doesn't seem dangerous to you at all?" he countered, then scoffed. "Choose another argument, Potter. This one is exhausted."

"I'm not going to treat him like an invalid," Harry told the blonde firmly. From what little Zach had told him of his parents, Harry'd gotton the feeling that they had everything to do with why he was living with his brother intsead of at home. He knew without Zach having to tell him that the Junior had always been treated like he was made of glass, _The Boy in the Plastic Bubble_ style, and honestly, he did feel a little sorry for him, but that was the reason Harry was determined not to treat Zach like he was fragile.

"Why not? That's how you treat me," Draco countered, cutting off Potter's protests as he continued. "You open doors for me, check on me before you go to sleep -don't think I don't know. I have to hide my cigarettes so you won't throw them away. You try to _hold my hand_when crossing the street, for fuck's sake. Do you know how embarrassing that is?"

Harry laughed, half-guilty and half-incredulous at the comparison. "That's completely different," the raven claimed. And honestly, it was.

"How?" Draco demanded in return, exasperated and genuinely wanting to know. "How is it different? Are all mutants entitled to special treatment with you? Do I have to sproat an extra arm for you to stop treating me like a baby?"

Harry scrambled for a reasonable explanation, then shrugged. "It just... _is_."

"...I hate you so much."

"I'm sorry." Honestly.

"I swear to god."

"An extra arm, though, that would be cool."

"Shut up, Potter."

"But seriously," the raven said, making sure that Draco was looking at him. "Give Zach a break. I'm not asking you to go against your principles and apologize or something equally unthought-of, but could you at least try being a little more understanding? For me?"

Crossing his arms, Draco took a while to consider it.

"Please?" Harry added appealingly.

Draco sighed. "I'm not making any promises."

"That's all I'm asking," Harry agreed obligingly, then reconsidered with leftover annoyance. "And stop calling him a mutant."

"That one will cost you."

"I wasn't asking, Draco."

"Fine, fine. Whatever," the blonde waved him off. "So, is that it? Is my beratement over?" he inquired sarcastically.

"Just one more question."

"What?"

Grinning, Harry tugged on the hem of Draco's silky green pajamas. "How come you don't wear dresses at school?"

Draco slapped his hand away with a reproachful scowl. "Because certain ignorant roommates of mine don't know the difference between female apparel and comfortable nightwear," he answered on his way out of the bathroom.

Harry stopped him at the door. "You're really not jealous?"

Draco was about to tell him not to flatter himself, but with the way Potter was watching him, like he was looking for something he wanted to find, Draco knew he couldn't get away with anything less than the truth.

"Just because you can't hurt him," Draco settled on, "doesn't mean he can't hurt you."

After a second or two of searching the blonde's face, Harry nodded his acceptance of this answer, opening the door for him in a way that was very deliberate. Draco's eyes moved from Potter to the door and back again before he rolled his eyes and walked out.

Returning to Seamus and the injured Junior, it was obvious they hadn't exchanged more than a few incomplete sentences. Technically obeying Harry's request, Zach was still sitting, but had since moved to the door.

"Can we leave now?"

Grabbing his bag from where he'd dropped it and picking out a uniform from his bureau on the way, Harry nodded. "Man, this was not how I imagined this night turning out," he said as if in apology, sighing as Zach got up and sidled in close.

"Well, I doubt he actually _intended_ hurt me. And I suppose I did keep you out all night. I guess I'll just have to learn to share," Zach sighed in mock-disappointment. "And if you think about it, there is one good development that's come out of all this," the Junior considered, straightening the furry lapels on the raven's jacket.

"A free Mountian Dew?" Harry guessed as he twisted the cap off and took a sip, relieving his ailment of cotton mouth.

"Close, but no," Zach smirked before leaning in nose to nose. "Thanks to my concussion, you're going to have to keep me up all night." His lips popped on the word 'up.'

"Ugh," Draco gagged his righteous disgust. "For the sake of humanity, Potter, let him slip into a coma."

"Draco," Harry sighed, resigned. Didn't they just talk about this?

"What? I can't banter?"

"Don't forget your key," the Junior reminded the raven-haired boy, pretending for the moment that Draco simply wasn't there.

"Right," Harry mumbled before going back over to where he'd dropped it, leaving the Draco and Zach alone together unthinkingly.

Zach gave the other blond a sideways glace, then chuckled. "Prick."

Draco scoffed. "Mutant."

A handful of hours later, Draco was headed to his first class, Blaise striding alongside him. After the third time Draco flipped open his cell, Blaise quirked an eyebrow.

"Who're you texting so early this fine morning?"

"Pansy," Draco answered blithely. He only looked up from his cell long enough to remark, "Did you know Millicent Bulestrode is getting liposuction?"

"That's a surprise," Blaise commented.

"Ugh, I know. It's like hanging the Mona Lisa on the door of a refrigerator. Millicent being the refrigerator, of course."

"That's not what I meant. Last I heard, you dropped Pansy like a sack of potatos."

"What can I say? Pansy is a never-ending fountain of gossip. You know how dedicated I am to the rumor mill. Besides, she's not nearly as annoying through the miricalous filter of technology."

"So let me get this straight. You're ex-girlfriend, who you didn't even go through the trouble of actually breaking up with in the first place, has been reduced to feeding you rumors to get you to talk to her, if only in text. You know she's only trying to butter you up, but you're okay with that as long as she doesn't breach certain subjects and you don't have to see her."

"Exactly."

"What kind of twisted sadist are you?"

Draco sighed, slipping his cell into his bag as he approached his first class. "Oh, Blaise, does it really matter what kind?" he smirked.

"I've got Calc," Blaise said, thumbing toward the door he'd stopped at.

"Chem," the blonde replied with a vague gesture ahead of him, not pausing in his stride.

Draco wasn't surprised to see that Potter, his self-appointed lab partner, was not in his seat, as the raven hadn't made an appearence at breakfast either. It was something he would normally be indignant about, but seeing what was waiting for him at his desk, Draco didn't have time to dwell on it.

Several pairs of eyes were flicking back and forth between him and the... thing monopolizing his desk, expressions varying from highly curious to vaguely interested. Unwilling to get any closer to it, Draco was still hovering in the doorway. Snape, of course, was the first to call him on it.

"Mr Malfoy, disgustingly sentimental and hideous as they are, I doubt they'll bite," Snape intoned, bordering on exasperation and flicking the stray hair from his face. "Depending on whom they're from, of course."

Cautiously, Draco approached his desk. "You know who sent them?"

"Unless you're even more of a narcissist than I originally presumed and you sent them to yourself, I suggest you read the card and find out."

Deciding not to create more of a scene, Draco took his seat. The monsterous bouquet of roses stared back at him.

"Well, go on," Snape urged. "We're all dying from anticipation," he snarked flatly.

As prompted, Draco opened the card, careful not to touch the flowers just yet. His brows furrowed as he read what seemed to be the first line of a riddle.

_'Of letters five my name does consist_

_And I hope you'll forgive my need to persist_

_But an apology for a circus, a rose for a rose_

_If I ask who I am, you will already know'_

Draco lost his grip on the card, letting it fall onto his desk and staring down at it as if merely touching it was a mortal sin. Five letters, though... That wasn't right.

"Secret admirer then?" Snape assumed, picking up the attendence sheet as the bell rang. "Delightful." As the last student rushed inside, he hit the top of his pupil's head with the attendance clipboard. "Potter, how nice of you to join us."

With a baleful glare aimed in Snape's direction and nursing his abused head, Harry walked towards his seat, only to stop just as Draco had at the sight that greeted him. It was like enjoying a good burger only to bite into one of those mysterious little hard peices. Not a pleasant feeling.

Reading the card over a second time, Draco thought this was how the victims of stalkers must feel. The 'gift' Riddle sent him meant more than it would first appear. It meant Riddle knew his schedule, knew his first class, his assigned seat. It meant Riddle had connections in Hogwarts. Why would Riddle go through all that trouble just to send him apology flowers? Did his little act in the tabloids really generate so many votes that Riddle would go to such lengths, would suck up to him like this in the hopes that he'll continue with the charade?

"Riddle?"

Draco started in surprise, flipping the note over so it was face-down and looking up to see Potter standing over him. "Pardon?"

Harry gestured to the note, his expression indecernable. "The answer's 'riddle', right? The two D's count as one letter."

"Oh." Draco tried not to breath a sigh of relief. For a second there, he thought Potter had discovered who'd sent the flowers. It hadn't occured to him yet that the answer to the riddle was 'riddle.' Clever. "Right, of course."

"So, who sent them?"

"Uh. I don't know," Draco lied blatantly, then gestured toward the flowers with a shrug. "I mean, I don't even like roses."

"Well, whoever they are, they sure know how to get a message across," Harry said, eyeing the bouquet in distaste.

"What do you mean?"

In responce, Harry sat down, taking the flowers in hand and gesturing to the roses. "You know that saying about flowers having a language of their own? Well, thornless roses generally mean 'love at first sight,' but since these are thornless _corral_roses, that translates to 'lust at first sight,'" Harry explained, then pointed to the filler flowers. "Vervain means 'enchantment' and Rhododendron means 'danger' or 'beware, I am dangerous.'" He frowned at his own words, then at Draco. "You really don't know who they're from? Seems like whoever sent them pulled out all the stops to make sure you're the only one who would understand what the card's supposed to mean."

"No idea," the blonde lied again, then went silent. He really hoped Potter was mistaken, because if he wasn't, that could mean Riddle wanted him in a way that made him want to vomit. But, on the other hand, even if Potter did know what he was talking about, it could just be a coincidence. Who, with the exception of Potter, knew the meaning behind any given flower? In all likelihood, Riddle probably had his secretary send any random arrangement as nothing but a gesture of good will. Brown-nosing. A bribe in the place of blackmail.

Potter was still watching him carefully, a certain type of curious. Deciding a distraction was in order, Draco attempted to vere off topic. "How do you know so much about flowers anyway?"

Harry noticed the subject change, but it was so subtle he didn't think twice on it. "Arabella, this lady who use to babysit me when I was little," the raven explained easily. "She owned this flower shop and got me a job there after school. Taught me more than I ever wanted to know about flowers." He shruged. "I guess it just stuck with me."

"Well, you are very sticky," Draco smirked, earning a smile from the raven at the vemonless jibe. Sitting back in his seat, all he could smell was flowers. He sighed. "I wonder what I should do with them."

Harry, apparently, considered this rhetorical question a request for solution, because after a second or two of deliberation, the raven stood up, grabbed the flowers and made a three-pointer into the garbage pail, throwing the beautiful arrangement into the trash with zero remorse. Turning around, Harry gave an defensive shrug at the odd look Draco was giving him. "What? You said you didn't like roses."

Whatever reply Draco would've given him was cut off by the incredulous glare Snape sent the raven's way. "If you're quite finished marking your territory, Simba, I think the rest of the pride would like to get back to class now."

With a look somewhere between relieved and embarrassed, Harry took his seat, avoiding Draco's gaze in a manner that only seemed nonchalant.

This was turning out to be one of those days, Draco reflected. The kind that seemed to follow Potter around like a particularly determined black cloud. Obviously, Draco wouldn't be doing anything about the flowers. If Riddle wanted to send him gifts in order to butter him up, he saw no reason to disuade him. Brown-nosing or not, Draco wouldn't allow it to effect his decision in the least. Besides, receiving flowers from an unnamed source caused... interesting behavior in the raven that Draco would like to dissect.

"So how do we do this?"

"It doesn't matter what you say, Harry. Just pretend to introduce yourself," Remus advised. "Maybe Draco should start, since I know he, at least, read the material."

"I read the material," Harry claimed, feigning offense before turning to Draco. "How now, good fellow?"

"I beg your pardon?" Draco replied empirically. "You musn't be aware of whom you speak, stranger."

"Pause," Oliver announced. "Okay, does anyone know why Draco would take offense to being called 'fellow?' Blaise?"

"Because it would be considered patronizing."

"Right. Though Draco's reaction to Harry's greeting could be considered a little... extreme, using the term 'fellow' in Elizabethan would be like calling someone you just met 'dude.'"

Harry gasped, hand on his heart. "Oh! The ill repute in which thine must holdeth me. Oft do I forget my manners, but by my beard, I speaketh no insult."

"Watch your consonants, Harry," Remus interjected.

Draco smiled. "If thy regard for my person be as absent as the beard of which you swear, I fear thou art but a common rogue, and deserveth not mine introduction."

"Wow," Seamus commented in awe. "An Elizabethan burn."

"Ah. But, Poppet, thou spineth my words," Harry objected, grinning as Draco glared at the endearment. "I pray thee verily, accept the compliment of mine interest and desist being coy."

"Professor," Draco said like an objection, his expression one of exasperation. The raven was having too much fun with this assignment.

"Quit it, Harry," Remus chided with the annoyance of someone who's known the raven long enough to know how annoying Harry could get with something like Elizabethan dialogue to play with. The boy just didn't know when to stop.

Harry held his hands up in surrender. "Doth the time in which we live demand such restrictive conversation? Rather my tongue choose my words and speaketh unto all as my kinsmen, greeting merrily the threat of punishment." He spread his arms skyward in a grand display. "For I am free as a bird, love, and this bird ye cannot change."

His audience chuckled at the Lynyrd Skynyrd lyrics and their TA leaned over to Remus with a forehead wrinkled in query. "Is that a quote?" Oliver had to ask the professor.

Remus considered it, then shrugged uncertainly. "Not exactly."

"If thy art so keen to welcome punishment, perchance thou and thy wicked tongue shalt pay a visit to the gallow's blade in thou ignorance of the laws of propriety?"

"Ah, but I fear thou hast not taken a gander behind my smile, for the purveyor of my words hast already met the gallows blade." Metal clinked against enamel as he dragged the stem of his tongue ring across the bottom row of his teeth, ending with a wicked grin. "Leaving with naught but a souvenir."

"Could you try not being a total moron for a minute so we can get this over with?" Draco asked him, uncomfortable with the sight of Potter being utterly himself, lavacious and lewd and in front of the entire class.

"Indeed not," a new voice answered. "For even a minute would be too long to suffer the absence of my Lord's sought-after attention, wasted on the unappreciative."

Harry smiled brightly. "A man after mine own heart," he sighed theatrically.

"No quoting, Harry," Remus said before turning to the only Junior in the room. "Was there something you needed, Mr Smith?"

"Nurse Pomfrey asked me to send your TA to the infirmary to take off his cast."

Oliver looked over at the clock, then at Remus as if asking his opinion. "There's only about twenty minutes left of class. I'm sure she wouldn't mind the wait."

"You obviously don't know her very well," Remus noted.

Oliver wisely reconsidered. "I could be back for the next class starts."

Remus waved him off. "Mr Smith, don't you have a class somewhere?"

"It's my free period. If you wouldn't mind, was hoping I could listen in."

"I don't mind at all, but Harry practically has borderline ADD already. I don't want you distracting him."

"I do not," Harry objected in mortal offense. What was it, Pick-on-Harry Day or something?

"You won't even know I'm here. I swear," Zach promised, seating himself on the surface of Harry's desk and sending a wink to the raven.

Remus didn't have the time to reconsider, as Mr Wood chose that moment to reenter the classroom. "Change your mind already, Oliver?" Remus watched in mild alarm as Oliver turned back to lock the door behind himself. "What's happened?" he asked when Oliver made it over to him.

"An email was sent to the headmaster's office earlier this morning," Oliver whispered gravely. "They're saying it's a bomb threat."

"A bomb threat?" Remus echoed in shock. "But it's procedure to evacuate school premises-"

"That's what I said, but the Headmaster's telling everyone to stay inside."

"Well... I'm sure there has to be a good reason for it."

"Remus," Harry said, curious. "What's going on?"

Static sounded on the intercom, prompting everyone's attention to turn up toward the speaker system. "Attention students," echoed the calm, kind voice of Dumbledore. "This is your headmaster speaking. By now I'm sure most of you have noticed the miniature uproar your professors are surely making, but please, do not be alarmed. Although there has been a potential breach of security, I assure you, every precaution is being taken to ensure your safety and the safety of our staff. I ask only for you all to remain inside your classrooms until the perceived threat is fully determined and distinguished. You will all be informed as soon as you can return to your regularly scheduled classes. Thank you."

Harry's brow furrowed. "What's that suppose to mean? A potential breach of security?"

"It means he isn't going to tell us," Draco simplified, arms crossed and petulant. This was just what he needed, to be stuck in a room with Potter and his skinny bundle of concentrated sociopath for an undisclosed amount of time.

But that didn't answer Harry's question. "Well, how long do you think we'll have to stay here?"

A long time, it turned out. Three and a half hours later, Draco was working hard to keep his dignity about him and remain unaffected in this classroom turned prison. His roommates, on the other hand, had no such reservations. They'd all gathered in a circle, sprawled out on the tile floor like it was somehow more comfortable than their desks. Smith had decided to take a nap in Potter's lap and, posed as he was, Draco was bored enough to play another game of Truth or Dare with his ridiculously immature classmates. And he was actually playing this time, not just jumping in whenever it felt like an opportune moment. The game had disintegrated quickly, however, there being only so much you can dare someone to do in a professor-occupied classroom without getting into trouble. Beside it being embarrassing, excuses like 'he dared me to do it' don't really hold up passed first grade, anyway. After so long, Truth or Dare had turned into a game of Pick Your Poison.

"If you could sleep with anyone in the world, alive or dead, who would it be?"

Raven brows furrowed. "Why would I wanna fuck a dead person?"

"Okay, fine. Let me rephrase that for the hypothetically disinclined; If you could sleep with anyone, alive or brought back to life, who would it be?" Blaise paraphrased, stopping Harry when he opened his mouth. "And no, that wouldn't make them a zombie, so don't even ask."

After a second or two of consideration, Harry answered with a simple, "No one."

"Oh, come on," Ron urged, grinning like a letch looking for details. "No one? You've been all over the country. You're telling me there's no one you've ever wanted to bone? A celebrity, a missed opportunity?"

"Potter here never misses an opportunity," Draco informed, eyes on the napping Smith.

"Well, there is one," Harry reconsidered. "A celebrity and a missed opportunity in one. Passing through Brooklyn a couple years ago, me and Cedric went to this club we heard a local band was playing at. That's where I discovered the garage-glam genre, and that's where I met... Justin 'Precious' Tranter."

"Wait... is that that quasi-transvestite from that CD you let me borrow?" Seamus asked.

Harry nodded proudly. "I met him in the hallway before he went on, where he was putting on his make up. He's the one who convinced me to get contacts. Said my eyes were, and I quote, 'fucking gorgeous.'"

"This guy's a transvestite?" Draco said, a certain amount of distaste coloring his words.

"Mm," Harry agreed noncommitally. "But he sings like he's panting."

Draco looked unimpressed. "You just can't pick a team, can you?"

"I shouldn't have to," Harry insisted. "It's my personal free-love campaign."

"Free love, huh? So you don't believe in marriage?" Dean inquired.

"It's not that, it's just... If someone's in love enough to want to get married, they should be allowed to, no matter who they are. But, personally... I don't think I'll ever be that much in love."

Wearing his sad face, Seamus held Harry's hand tightly. "You really make me wanna cry sometimes, Hare-bear."

Harry suddenly looked annoyed with the subject. "How can you tell the difference between love and in-love, anyway?"

"You can tell," Dean assured, a certainty about him that couldn't be argued with and couldn't be explained with words. He leaned forward to squeeze Seamus' leg. "You'll know."

Watching Seamus and Dean making gooey faces at each other, Draco could've heaved. "Can we keep the mushy love stuff to a minimum, please?" he requested before turning to Professor Lupin. "How long until we can leave? Jesus, we've been stuck in here for hours."

"My name isn't Jesus, Mr Malfoy, and I've already told you, we have to wait for the Headmaster's okay."

"I hope we don't miss dinner," was Harry's only concern, shrugging defensively at the looks he was receiving. "What? I missed breakfast. The caf's supposed to be having ribs tonight."

"Harry," the suddenly awake Zach sighed, sitting up and fixing his hair. "I knew before getting involved with you that you're an omnivore, and I was okay with that, but honestly, do you even know what you're putting into your body?"

"Cow?" was Harry's wild guess.

"Cruelty," Zach corrected. "These were living, breathing animals with parents and children, tortured and slaughtered alive in mass production for their bleeding flesh to be frozen and packaged and shipped and eaten miles away from where they were raised."

"We're growing boys," Ron argued with a sigh, Harry nodding along with his full endorsement. "We need protein."

"The average human only needs twenty-seven grams of protein a day. You're eating about a hundred. The hot wings I had to watch you two inhale a few weeks ago in the Great Hall almost made me vomit."

"I didn't think you could vomit," Harry pointed out.

"That's not the point."

"What is your point exactly?" Draco spoke up, and okay, maybe he was trying to start something. What of it?

"Draco," Harry warned, knowing where this was headed.

"Don't get me wrong. Your long-winded speech is inspiring and all, but personally, all I hear is a self-important could-be anorexic preaching against animal cruelty when in reality, he couldn't care less about the cows."

"Did you know they castrate bulls without anethesia? Beef is the most likely of all meat sources to cause cancer from herbicide residue."

"Does playing Devil's Advocate make you feel in-control or are you just a dilettante looking for an ego boost? Being a vegan doesn't make you stand out. It doesn't set you apart and it sure as hell doesn't make you special. But hey, what do I know? Maybe you are just soft-hearted vegan trying to inform the ignorant and save them from early heart attacks. Either way, I don't hear anybody applauding you."

"You're taking up an argument for no other reason than to go against me and I'm the one playing the Devil's Advocate? You can call me all the names you want, Malfoy, but it doesn't mean you're right. If anything, it means you're a childish hypocrite with Reese Witherspoon's chin."

Draco had to stop himself from huffing up at the insult. Sure, he had sharper features than most, but that was taking it too far. "This coming from the fourth Hanson brother? At least my hair didn't come out of a bottle."

"Oh, I'm a natural blonde," Zach assured with a smile. "_Harry_ can certainly attest to that, can't you, Harry?"

Harry looked between the two blondes with caution, not knowing whether or not it was wise to answer. "Umm..."

"Don't you dare bring him into this," Draco told the Junior. Smith was once again rubbing it in his face.

"Why not? He's what this fight is about, after all."

"_I_ am?" Harry asked, guilty at the prospect.

"Do you think you're holding something over my head? Potter has shit to do with why I hate you!"

"I think we both know he has everything to do with it," Zach said, standing up and strutting over to Draco's desk. "But for agruments sake, why don't we ask him."

There was something in Smith's hushed voice that made Draco pause, or maybe it was his smile.

"...Excuse me?"

Smith's expression was enough to scare him, getting closer and closer until he was leaned over Draco and whispering into his ear so only Draco could hear. Draco refused to pull away, no matter how much he wanted to. He knew what was coming without Smith having to say a word.

"Why don't we ask him why you're still living in the dorms? How the paparazzi mysteriously knows exactly where and when you two are going to be out together? Why don't we ask him why you can never call him by his first name unless he's not around to hear it?"

That was how Draco found himself stuck between a rock and Smith, which was indefinitely worse than a hard place. Staring straight ahead, Draco gritted his teeth.

"Unless you want another concussion, I suggest you shut your fucking mouth. Right now."

"Resorting to threats, are we?" Zach mocked, laughing under his breath. "That's all the confirmation I need."

"You're not going to tell him," Draco said, pretending indifference. It wasn't a demand so much as a prediction. "You're not about to give up your only leverage."

"Of course I'm not," Zach agreed, no pretenses. "It'll stay our dirty little secret. That is, unless you don't agree to playing nice."

"I'm warning you," Draco told him. "You don't want to start something with me, Smith. I'm bred to be merciless."

"I am _loving_this new hostility, Malfoy," Zach purred into his ear viciously, his breath hot. "Desperation looks so good on you."

"You're disgusting."

"Seriously," Zach sneered, "if you keep up this aggression, I might have to think about trading in my new toy. But then that would be like starting from scratch. You know, with you being a virgin and all..."

Zach was pushed away before his sentence was finished, still smiling that insufferably smug smile. Draco was standing now, too, if only to put some distance between them, but it was like Zach actually wanted to get hit, getting closer with every threat Draco spat at him, provoking him. But the closer he got, the harder Draco shoved him away.

"Catfight!" Ron shouted, as if this was something he'd been looking forward to from day one.

"Not again," Harry groaned, head in his hands.

"I'm not unreasonable, Malfoy. You need time to think it over when you're not under duress. I understand," Zach assured him easily, still perfectly composed. Draco, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to break that composure. Only Zach was nothing if not persistant, and after a particularly rough push, Zach clung onto his arms like a leech. The more he tried to pull away, the closer Zach got pulled along. "But after today, we fought out our differences and realized how much we have in common."

"Harry!" Seamus scolded as if it this was the raven's doing, arms up like he couldn't believe Harry was just sitting there. "Do something!"

Zach used Draco's own momentum to spin them around, pushing the older boy into his desk despite being a living twig. "After today," Zach told him, smile gone and suddenly serious, "you and I are the best of friends."

No sooner than Zach was finished speaking did Harry pull Zach off of him, and no sooner than that did Oliver and Remus arrive on the scene.

"What's all this about?" Remus inquired. His question was aimed at the squabbling blondes, but he was looking at Harry.

"Well?" Zach prompted Draco after a moment of hesitation, raising an expectant eyebrow. "What _was_ this about, Draco?"

Smith was giving him a choice. Either he could go along with the Junior's 'suddenly friends' plan or he could tell the truth, which wasn't really an option at all. It was a simple decision, but that didn't make it an easy one.

"We were arguing," Draco contributed unnecessarily, "over the pros and cons of veganism."

"We apologize, Professor," Zach continued, allowing no pause for the change-over. "One over-reaction led to another and I suppose it just escalated. I've heard irritability is one of the many symptoms of cabin fever."

Oliver watching them with features clouded in disbelief, Remus only sighed. "I know you guys are getting a little stir-crazy being stuck in here, but that's no excuse to start-"

"Attention students and faculty," buzzed the intercom. "I'm pleased to announce that the potential threat I'd previously mentioned has been deemed counterfeit and not a danger to anyone. You are all now permitted to leave your classrooms. Thank you and have a nice day."

Students were already grabbing for their bags and racing toward the door. Draco looked to Lupin for permission to leave, making a bee-line for his desk the second the Professor nodded his head in assent. He was out the door in seconds, not waiting for anyone.

"I had a feeling it was a fake," Remus mentioned to Oliver, watching his students flocking into the hallway.

Oliver shook his head, completely at a loss. "Why would someone send in a fake bomb threat?"

"It's happened before. Hogwarts is practically legendary, Oliver, and because of who their parents are, the students here are often subject to the opportunistic whims of the media. Legally, reporters aren't allowed on school grounds," Remus told him, "but that doesn't necessarily mean they don't have their ways of making the students come to them."

"What do you think this was about?"

Remus didn't answer, but Oliver made a note of how closely, how worriedly, the Professor was watching Harry as the raven made his way into the hallway, shoulders hunched and the last one to leave. Looked like Rita Skeeter would stop at nothing to get her story.

Draco wasn't even out of the main building before Smith caught up with him, slowing to Draco's pace so the two were walking together and ignoring the older blonde's blatant effort of ignoring him. The Junior had to fight off a wave of annoyance when Draco practically slammed the door in his face heading out the main building, but followed him out regardless. Newly fallen snow crunched under their feet.

"Fighting over the pros and cons of veganism? And here I thought you were a good liar."

Draco didn't even throw a glance his way, lighting a cigarette as he walked down toward the lake. "That makes two of us then, Mr Vegan."

"Now why would I lie about being a vegan?"

"Because the last time I checked, that jacket you picked out for Potter was leather and sperm wasn't a vegetable."

"What is this? Delirium brought on by confrontation? I wouldn't lie about being a vegan."

"I know what genuine leather feels like, Smith, during Thanksgiving break when Potter sneaked through my bedroom window," Draco said, knowing how Smith would take that and waiting a moment for it to sink in. Leaning against his favored tree, he watched the fog of his breath and cloud of exhaled smoke fade away into nothing. "And I know you swallow because Potter told me."

"I take it back, Malfoy," Zach smiled insincerely. "You are a good liar."

"Believe what you want," Draco shrugged. "But when Potter dumps you -and trust me, he will- that won't mean this deal you came up with is void. I won't get in the way of whatever you have going on, but you can't spill everything the second he breaks it off with you thinking it was because of me."

Zach took a while to think on it, wrapping his coat tighter around himself and hugging his chest. "I guess you better make sure he doesn't end it, then, huh?"

Draco laughed. "There's no compromise with you, is there? No one can control what Potter does. What makes you think he'll listen to me?"

"Oh, please. You've been pulling Harry's strings like he's your own personal puppet for months now," Zach scoffed. "If he's thinking about breaking up with me, you'd be the first to know, and it'll be up to you to talk him out of it. Manipulating Harry should be second nature to you now anyway."

"It doesn't work like that," Draco told him, incredulous. "Potter doesn't ask for advice or come to anyone with his problems until they've blown up in his face. Christ, do you know anything about him at all?"

"I know how important you are to him," Zach argued, the words hitting him only after he'd said them. Draco was careful not to react. "Look, let's agree to cross that bridge when we come to it, okay? If he breaks up with me, I won't make any rash assumptions. I'll come to you first and you'll fix it. Is that enough of a compromise for you?"

"So, what? All you want from me is to pretend I had a sudden change of heart? That's it?"

"You don't have to do much of anything, really. Just agree with me every once and a while, laugh at my jokes, call me by my first name."

Draco snorted. "Anything else?"

"Now that you mention it..." Zach trailed off. "I don't want to hear about him sleeping in your bed."

"Are you kidding-"

"I know nothing happened, but it's for your own good. Harry doesn't realize he's giving you false hope every time he does things like that. I don't want to see him with his arm around you in the halls or holding your hand or kissing your forehead. Any of the lovey-dovey crap that has people believing you're a couple."

"I've already told you," Draco said, "I can't control Potter's actions."

"That doesn't mean you can't shrug him off."

"Because that's worked marvelously in the past," Draco grumbled to himself.

"I'll see you at dinner, Malfoy," Zach said, turning to leave. "Don't forget to bring your manners."

Zacherias Smith was probably the worst person that could've figured it out, Draco reflected, but he was forgetting one tiny detail, something Lucius had drilled into his head long before the mention of law school.

"Oh, I won't."

Agreements meant shit without a contract.

* * *

**Author's Note:**"Scarecrow, scarecrow, what's that you poppin'?" That's from a song called Oxycotin by Necro, which is what Zach was on. The second verse is, "A powerful pill they call oxycotin."

The name of the club Harry mentioned in the first part, Corruptio, means 'seduction' in Latin. I thought it'd make for a pretty cool club name.

Also, I made a freakin banner, people!! Go to my profile for the link if you want to see it. It was super quick and I know a lot of you won't agree with the actors I chose to portray the characters, but try not to be too harsh, alright? It's my first shot at it. Send me a PM to let me know what you think of it and if I should make another one. Or you can give me suggestions of who you'd like to see playing the characters of MKB if I do decide to make another. Check it out!

Oh, and review!


	22. The Art of Giving In

**Rating:** Mature.

**Warning:** Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness. Drug-use.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or the songs mentioned in this chapter.

* * *

**Previously...**

Harry spent his first night back at Hogwarts out on the club circuit with Zach, then brought the inebriated Junior back to the dorm with him. This was enough to send Draco over the edge, and Zach was awarded a concussion for his unwanted presence. Later, Draco received a bouquet of roses from a not-so anonymous source, which didn't sit very well with Harry. Zach made his discovery of Draco's secret known in the form of blackmail.

* * *

**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**The Art of Giving In**

* * *

It was a sad thing, Draco realized, watching Potter trying to please some girl he hardly knew even though he could care less about what she had to say. The dance being just a day away, Cho was determined to make absolutely sure nothing went wrong, and that meant asking Potter's detailed opinion on everything. The color of her dress, the way she planned to wear her hair, everything. Worse than that was how obvious it was to anyone watching that Potter didn't have the slightest clue what to say. To any of it. It was the train wreck nobody could stop watching.

"Looks like your boyfriend's moved onto greener pastures, eh?" Nott smirked as he passed their table. His amused eyes were focused on Harry and Cho, so whether he was speaking to Zach or Draco was unclear.

Ron sighed. "And that was our daily dose of bigotry, brought to us by Hogwarts' very own Theodore Nott."

Zach's amused snort caught everyone's attention. "Theo? Please. He couldn't be more transparent if he tried. I think it has something to do with him being faster than a speeding bullet, if you get my meaning."

It was lunchtime in the Great Hall, and seeing as Cho had pulled Harry away for the umpteenth time this week to discuss the dance, the raven's roommates were left to deal with Zach's company on their own and without anyone to act as mediator. Looks were cast in Draco's direction every so often, searching for the slightest hint of anything resembling aggression, but so far, it seemed Draco couldn't be more indifferent to the junior's presence.

Since their little agreement, Zach was acting nothing short of entitled, his confidence hitting the ceiling and going through the roof in wake of his so called victory. It was a new level of pretentious. If Draco was the only thing standing in his way before, the junior had free reign now, and he was positively basking in it.

Seamus' brow wrinkled in confusion, the Superman reference throwing him off. "Transparent about what?"

"Uh-uh," Dean shook his head in denial, catching on quickly to Zach's unspoken implication. "I'm not buying it."

"Believe what you want," Zach shrugged carelessly, but no way could the subject be dropped there.

"How would you know anyway?" Ron asked, only half doubtfully.

The redhead had suffered through Harry gushing about Zach before, the raven waxing lyrical about what a good person the blonde-haired boy actually was when you got to know him, as if trying to convince him that the junior had his good points. Ron seriously doubted that, having spent time in the younger boy's company when the raven wasn't around, but that was beside the point. Harry had divulged more information than Ron ever wanted to know about their relationship, conversations inquiring where the line was between 'rough' and 'violent', and if even half the things the raven had mentioned in confidence were true, Zacherias Smith was one kinky son-of-a-bitch. Ron wouldn't put it passed him to hook up with the most homophobic guy in school.

"I guess you could call it first _hand_ experience," Zach said, smirking at his own innuendo.

It took a second for the double meaning to sink in and after it did, Seamus left everyone behind in stunned silence with, "No way! Really? When?"

Zach didn't have a single reason to answer dishonestly. After all, Draco thought, Potter was the only one the junior cared enough about to lie to. "Last year, under the bleachers at the track and field tournament."

"Come to think of it… he was missing for the third event," Dean recalled, unsettled.

"Oh, this is too good," Seamus said, thrilled. He looked about a second away from rubbing his hands together evilly. "Do you know what we could do with this information?"

"Don't go looking for trouble, Seamus," Dean warned him gently. "'Do unto others', remember?"

"Wha- Did you forget the hell he's put us through? Dean, just a few weeks ago, you had to repaint the front of the GSA room because he sprayed over it with 'HOMOS & DYKES UNITE.' I can't think of anyone who needs to be 'done unto' more."

"Blackmail doesn't work that way," Dean argued, still aggravatingly Zen. "You have to have something substantial, not just a rumor. Anything short of catching him on camera with another guy and he'll laugh in your face. And if petty revenge is what you're getting at, spreading this around is only going to make him lash out at everyone, including us. You have to consider natural response."

"So what's the natural response to extortion?" Seamus put up for suggestion. "We can lead him to believe we have more on him than just a rumor, and then give him an ultimatum. Either he stops with the ridicule or risks the chance of being outed. A guy that deep in the closet-"

"Is paranoid as hell," Dean interjected, ruthlessly cutting through Seamus' wishful thinking. "Unless he's absolutely certain we won't go back on our word, he'll obsess over finding something to level the playing field. A guy like Nott has to feel in-control."

No one noticed how contemplative Zach looked at that, unusually intent on the topic of this conversation.

The air was effectively let out of Seamus' sails. "You think way too far ahead."

Dean smiled. "I like to think I'm the counterbalance to your impulsiveness."

"You've been oddly quiet," Blaise noted to Draco as the conversation disassembled. In response, Draco lifted his cell from his lap for Blaise to see. Obviously, he'd been preoccupied with texting again. It had become a welcome distraction within the last week. "Pansy?"

"Yep," was Draco's stunted reply, focus on his thumbs. A couple tables over, Cho laughed at something Potter said and Draco couldn't help but glance over. He looked away just as quickly, into Blaise's vaguely pitying expression.

"Everyone's been going on lately about what a great couple they make," Blaise mentioned, suedo-offhandedly.

"Spare me, Blaise. You're not weaseling me into one of your little therapy sessions," the blond told him, knowing where this was headed from a mile away. Underhandedly pointing out the follies of others in the pursuit of helping them was one of Blaise's more annoying traits. "And no, that doesn't mean I'm deflecting."

Blaise smiled, almost guilty but not quite. "Alright, so what about New Years? Is that a safe topic?"

"Depends. What about it?"

"I'm inviting everyone to stay at our summer house over New Years. Just a little family get-together. What do you think?"

"I think misery loves company and you're trying to use your friends to blindside your family from nosing into your business," Draco surmised, point-blank and right on target.

Blaise did an eyebrow shrug. "Think about it."

An exhausted sigh signaled Harry's return as he dropped boneless into the seat beside Zach, gathering the tables' attention. "Remind me again why I'm doing this?"

"Because you're a nice guy," Seamus acquiesced, smiling fondly.

Draco scoffed at that. "Too nice. You're a martyr suffering from a hero complex a mile wide and can't stand the sight of a damsel in distress without rushing head-first into the situation on a white horse," he corrected without so much as looking up from his cell, suddenly immersed in the device again now that the raven was back. "Lucky for her."

"She still doesn't know I can't dance," Harry said, tossing the blonde's attitude up to Draco just being Draco. "I'm going to break all her toes and fall flat on my face," was his grim prediction.

"Draco, didn't your mother make you take ballroom dancing once upon a time?" Blaise asked as if he didn't already know. He should, considering he'd been enrolled in the same class.

Draco looked up at that, from Blaise to Potter and back again. Then he understood what all the expectant looks were about and scoffed vehemently. "Oh, no. Hell no."

Seamus looked like he was about to swoon. "It'd be like the gay version of _Saved the Last Dance_."

Rolling his eyes at the Irishman's vivid imagination, Draco was refractory. "I'm not teaching you how to slow dance."

The corners of Harry's lips were twitching upward. "I'd understand if you're scared."

"Don't flatter yourself," Draco replied primly, fighting indignation and refusing to rise to the bait. "What on Earth would I be afraid of?"

The raven was fighting a grin now, leaning in to say, "I don't know, our rising sexual tension maybe?"

The blond was quick to fall back on sarcasm, telling himself firmly that it didn't mean he was playing along. "Very astute, Potter. You're right; there isn't a moment in your presence that my heart doesn't skip a beat."

"Draco," Harry admonished in a fabricated whisper. He was pointing surreptitiously to the junior sitting beside him, who was watching with an expression somewhere between indulging and bored. "Zach's sitting right here," he mouthed comically.

With Seamus snickering into a fist beside him, Draco's foot shot out under the table to give the raven a well-aimed (and well-deserved) kick to the shin. The action was expected but not anticipated, and Harry hissed in pain as he reminded himself of the blonde's favored reactions; a cocktail of sarcasm and violence.

"You know, I think we may need to schedule a session with my counselor to discuss your intimacy issues," Harry told him, pretending to be cross. "It's funny how when we're alone I can cuddle you, tickle you, even kiss you, but once we're in the company of others, even teasing you provokes violence."

Immediately, Zach's eyes zeroed in on Draco's gobsmacked face. Potter had intended it as a joke, Draco knew that, but how much insensitivity can one boy possibly possess? Everyone was looking at Draco for the denial they expected he would make. Only he couldn't.

Harry's words had yet to catch up with him and he looked around at the groups varied expressions with confusion. "What?"

"Your stupidity amazes me," Draco told the raven as he stood, collecting his things.

Draco was halfway to the door before Harry realized what he'd said. He didn't understand the blonde's reaction, but he made to stand up nevertheless, intending to follow him and apologize.

Zach chose that moment to grab his sleeve. "Let him cool off first," he suggested helpfully, his face sympathetic.

Harry hated leaving it at that. He knew that by not apologizing right away and attempting to explain would make Draco jump to the wrong conclusions. On the other hand, he knew Zach was probably right. There would be no talking to Draco with him as angry as he was now.

Sitting back down, he ignored the biting glare Seamus was giving him and started brooding into his potato salad.

Draco was fuming. It didn't matter how repentant Potter looked as he stormed off. There were so many things to choose from, but if Draco had to pick one thing he hated most about the raven, it was his ability to discount everything Draco found even remotely intimate and make it into a joke. The flirting, the teasing, the touching, he played everything off seamlessly. Draco hated him for it. Mostly, he hated himself for thinking it could've meant something.

But that was what it all boiled down to, wasn't it? It didn't mean something. It didn't mean anything. The raven didn't care about him enough to even try to apologize and the fact that Potter had let him leave the way he had just proved it.

And now he had to worry about Smith, because the look he'd been giving Draco meant a clandestine meeting between them later where the answers to questions of when and where would be demanded. He may even want details. But Draco could worry about that later.

His phone vibrating in his jacket pocket, he was thankful for the distraction. He knew it was Pansy before he even flipped it open, expecting her to question why he'd stormed out of the Great Hall like he had. Reading the text, he really should've seen this coming sooner.

_'Going to the dance?'_

* * *

It was an hour into the Winter Ball and the students of Hogwarts were dressed to kill, dancing the night away and spiking the punch with enough depressant to immobilize a bull elephant. Harry, however, was caught in a speeding trap miles from the school. Behind him, the stocky police officer who'd pulled him over didn't seem to be in any kind of hurry, which of course meant she was running Harry's plates.

Today had just refused to go as planned, and the events leading up to this seemed to be the Universe working against him. First was the extra-foul mood Snape had been in that led to Harry staying after classes to clean the Chemistry room. Then it was finding the only suit he owned mysteriously MIA, forcing Harry to drive to Remus' apartment to borrow one that really didn't fit from the very back of Sirius' closet. Cho was going to be pissed, he knew.

That wasn't even the worst of it, either. It had been over twenty-four hours since Harry's blunder in the cafeteria and Draco still wasn't talking to him. Worse than that, the blond was doing a fantastic job of avoiding him entirely, which Harry knew had to be pretty difficult considering the close quarters.

And it got even worse. Just before Harry left, he'd seen Draco getting ready for the dance. While that wasn't disconcerting in the least, the blond hadn't mentioned having a date, not a word, but Harry knew he had to have one. It was a simple fact that Draco was too gorgeous to be going stag. The question was: who did he ask? Who asked him? And why hadn't he thought to mention it to Harry?

"Officer," the raven greeted as the policewoman approached him, perfectly amicable. Still, he made sure to keep his hands on the handlebars and in plain sight.

In typical cop stereotype, the officer jumped straight to the point. "Do you know what the speeding limit is?"

Harry glanced at the sign not twenty feet away. "Fifty-five?"

"And do you know how fast you were going?"

"Fifty-five?"

"Fifty-seven," the Officer corrected. The name plate on her shirt said 'Alecto Carrow.' "License, insurance and registration please?"

Harry handed them over without complaint, mentally wondering what on Earth this was about. No way could he get a ticket for going two miles over the speed limit.

"You headed somewhere tonight... Mr Potter?" Officer Carrow inquired, reading the name from Harry's license. She gestured to the suit Harry was wearing. "I don't suppose this is a fashion statement."

"Winter Ball at Hogwarts," Harry answered, trying not to take the Officer's fashion statement comment the wrong way -or the right way, depending on how she meant it. "I'm running kind of late."

"I can tell," the Officer said, shifting the papers into one hand and turning away. "You just sit tight for a minute."

Stumped, Harry watched through his mirror as the Officer pulled out a cell phone and started talking to someone. Lip-reading, though, wasn't a skill he possessed.

Carrow was back only a few seconds after snapping her phone shut, all business. "Have you been drinking tonight, Mr Potter?"

"What? No."

"I'm going to have to ask you to walk a straight line for me. Think you can do that?"

Clenching his jaw, Harry nodded stiffly. "Yeah."

"Hogwarts... Isn't that the boarding school? I don't usually see students out so late," the chatty cop mentioned.

"Wardrobe malfunction," Harry told her, following the yellow line on the road as perfect as he could manage. "I had to get another suit."

"Does your date know you're running late tonight?"

"She's probably thinking I stood her up by now," Harry sighed, walking the line again when Carrow gestured it.

Out of the blue and for the first time, Officer Carrow looked uncertain. "Her?"

"Uh, yeah," Harry nodded, confused. "Her."

Carrow didn't seem to be paying attention to how straight Harry was walking. "Okay, Mr Potter, you're free to go."

"What?"

"Unless you want a ticket?"

"No- Uh, thank you," Harry said, walking back to his bike. Reflecting on it on the drive back to Hogwarts, that had been the single weirdest run-in with a cop he'd ever experienced.

* * *

Harry could make an Olympic sport out of sneaking in and out of Hogwarts by now. Sure, coasting his bike into student parking could get a little tiring, especially when he was in a hurry. On the other hand, though, his biceps had never looked better.

"In a hurry there, Harry?"

Harry jumped at the accent, surprised by even the possibility of actually being caught for once. "Oh! Hagrid. Sorry, I didn't see you."

"I reckon ya must be to not've seen _me_ coming," Hagrid joked, walking backwards as he salted the walkway.

Harry smiled, a bit sheepish as he grabbed his helmet and tucked it under his arm. "Yeah, I'm running kinda late."

"Ay, that reminds me," Hagrid said, "That skinny fella you been runnin with wanted me to tell ya somethin if I saw ya. What was it...? Oh, that's right! He said 'Don't worry' and that he wasn't burned too bad. Said he'd meet ya back at the dorms."

"Burned?" Harry repeated with some alarm. "Zach was burned?"

"Oh, I reckon ya wouldn't've heard yet. The Library caught fire round supper time. Ol' Dumbledore's got yer professors in an uproar up there. Hardly any left to chaperone the- Where ya going, Harry?"

"I'll see you later, Hagrid!" Harry shouted as he made a run for the entrance. "Thanks for telling me!"

"Yer welcome," Hagrid said as the boy disappeared. He shook his head. "Always goin a hundred miles an hour, that boy."

Harry was in the dorm building as fast as he could get there, wondering why Zach would choose to wait in the dorm and how today could get any worse. That question was answered as soon as he approached his room, the doorknob vibrating as he went to push it open.

_'Her Hair!_

_Her hair!_

_Her hair is on fire!'_

People were everywhere. Compared to the relative quiet of the hallway, dorm room number sixty-six might as well have been a landing strip. Eyes wide, he maneuvered through the crowd, distantly trying to remember if one of his roommates had mentioned throwing a party tonight.

_'She don't want no water_

_Let her fuckin' head burn!'_

In the back of his mind, however, he knew exactly who was at the center of this precipitous soiree. As far as he knew, all but one of his roommates was at the dance and the only one that wasn't was off in an abandoned classroom somewhere, copulating with his secret girlfriend.

"There you are. I thought you'd never show up," Zach's voice mentioned from somewhere behind him. Turning around, Harry saw the junior pass the beer tap off to someone beside him. "What kept you?"

_'Her Hair!_

_Her hair!_

_Her hair is on fire!'_

Harry gestured around him in disbelief. "What the hell is this?"

Zach pouted at him, tugging on his sleeve the second he was close enough. "I thought you liked this band."

"There's fifty people in my dorm room and you think I'm pissed about the music selection?!" Harry yelled over the music, jerking the younger boy's hand off his arm. Zach was being purposely obtuse. He pointed at a guy he'd never seen before. "Do they even go to this school?"

"Of course they do," Zach assured, stepping back as someone with a beard spilled a mysterious liquid over the rim of his cup. "At least most of them, anyway."

_'She don't want no water_

_Let her fuckin' head burn!'_

Pulling at his hair, Harry squeezed his eyes shut and tried to keep from blowing a gasket. Ten, nine, eight… "What the hell were you thinking? I thought you were hurt!"

"I am hurt," Zach told him, rolling up his sleeve to show Harry the bandage Nurse Pomfrey had put over the burn. "See?"

Glancing at it and back up to Zach's face, Harry grabbed his other hand and pulled him determinedly toward the bathroom, thanking every deity he knew of that there were only a few people in there.

'_Little Miss Couture_

_Was the best blackout whore_

_She went to twenty-nine bars_

_In twenty-nine minutes'_

"What happened?" Harry asked demandingly as soon as the door shut closed behind them, smothering the sound of the music. He was concerned despite himself at seeing how far up the junior's arm the bandage went. Besides, he could only get so pissed at an injured person before his conscience started calling him an asshole.

"I don't know. One second I'm flipping through a book, the next and my sleeve was on fire. Someone decided to torch a bookshelf, I suppose," Zach explained, a lot less perturbed than Harry would've expected considering he'd essentially been lit on fire. "I never saw who it was, but they must've used lighter fluid because it got all over my arm."

"What were you doing in the Library?"

"Reading." Harry gave him a doubtful look and he sighed. "I was a little depressed, okay? You were off dancing with What's-Her-Name and I didn't have anything else to do, so I thought I might as well get started on my holiday assignments."

"You said you didn't mind me going to the dance with her," Harry reminded, mentally kicking his own ass for not knowing better.

Zach shrugged, "I lied." He snatched a plastic cup from a girl Harry didn't know, ignoring the indignant 'hey!' "I was trying to cheer myself up."

"So you decided to throw a party," Harry concluded skeptically, because isn't that what everyone did when they needed cheering up? "Wait, how'd you even get in?"

Blinking once, Zach shrugged. "I took your key."

Harry threw his hands up in disbelief. "You took my key!"

"I wanted to surprise you when you got back from a night of consorting with Miss Purity," the junior corrected accusingly, like this whole thing was the raven's fault.

Clenching his jaw, Harry kicked the side of a shower stall, earning a few curious looks. "You can't do this, Zach. I have five roommates. This isn't _my_ dorm room."

Zach touched his shoulder. "This is our last night together before I have to go home for Christmas, Harry. You're not going to miss me at all?"

Harry shrugged him off. "Not fair," he said, narrowing his eyes at his tricky counterpart. After a second of trying to keep it up, he relented with a sigh. "Cho's gonna hate me," he continued in a futile effort of not giving in.

"She already thinks you stood her up," Zach reasoned. "If you go now, you'll just spend the remaining hour of the dance apologizing to her. Not my idea of a worthwhile evening, but hey, if you're into masochism…"

"Excuse me? Well, aren't you the little hypocrite," Harry said, fighting tooth and nail against a grin despite how angry he was. Zach was just trying to butter him up, he told himself.

"Just because I like it a little rougher than most does not make me a masochist," Zach informed imperiously, dragging the raven closer by his tie and kissing the side of his mouth with full, smirking lips. They were definitely getting looks now.

Averting his eyes, Harry looked heavenward with a long-suffering sigh. This brought Zach's kisses down to his jaw. "My roommates are gonna hate me."

"Your roommates love you," the junior mumbled with a bland certainty, nipping at the raven's neck.

"Hey," Harry protested at a particularly sharp bite, grabbing Zach's arm harder than he probably would anybody else because he knew the junior wouldn't recognize it as a warning if it'd been any less forceful. He failed to realize that in doing this he was giving Zach exactly the reaction he wanted.

The younger boy gave him a satisfied smile before laying his head on Harry's shoulder and moving the raven's arms so that they were around him. "Besides, I'll make sure everything's cleaned up before I leave. And if they do get pissed, just tell them it was my fault."

"You're a danger to society itself," Harry said, gripping the back of shoulder-length blond hair to bring the junior's head up and giving him a pointed look. "The Prince of Temptation."

"Relax," Zach told him, pushing the cup into his hand with a smile and wink. "It's a party."

* * *

"Have you seen Harry yet?"

Draco glanced over his shoulder with a sneer. "I'm not his shepherd, _Weasel_. I haven't the slightest clue where the idiot could be."

Which was precisely the reason he was in such an irritable mood. The main reason he'd agreed to go to the dance with Pansy in the first place was because he knew Potter didn't like her. What was the point if the raven hadn't even bothered to show up?

Aside from that, Potter didn't spend a week brooding over the dance only to decide not to go at the last minute. He was way too stubborn to give up like that. It very well might be for an incredibly stupid reason, but Draco knew something had to have happened.

"I haven't seen him either," Dean said, following the group toward the dorm with Seamus bouncing around beside him. "Did you see Cho? She looked about ready to maim someone."

"Do you imbeciles even hear yourselves? Exactly the same thing happens every week," Draco said, pausing in his stride just to inform them of this. "Potter has some trivial obligation, bails on it, working everyone into a frenzy worrying about him, then comes back perfectly fine."

His roommates shared a look with each other, not taking what Draco said into consideration as much as wondering why the blonde was still so angry at Harry.

"Sounds pretty accurate, except for that last part," entered a new voice. "It usually happens more like: Harry comes back in slightly worse condition than when he left, provokes your wrath, calms you down with a combination of flirting and yelling, then you forgive him until it happens again."

Continuing his trek, Draco glared ahead of him. "Nobody asked for your input, Blaise."

"Shouldn't you be escorting your lovely date to her room?" Blaise smirked amusedly, which made Draco pause again and turn around.

"Shouldn't you be copulating with your secret girlfriend in a janitor's closet somewhere?" the blond quipped, watching with a confounded expression as Seamus hopped from one foot to the other like he had been for the last ten minutes. "_What_ is the matter with you?" Draco finally had to ask.

"I really have to pee," Seamus told him, eyes wide and biting his lip.

"Ugh," Draco lamented, throwing his hand up and spinning on his heel in officially the gayest gesture he'd ever made. _These_ were the people he was surrounded by.

As they approached their destination, eager to get inside, everyone felt that something was off.

"What's that noise?" Dean wondered.

Blaise quirked an approving brow. "Sounds like someone's having an after-party."

Closest to the door, Draco's eyes narrowed icily. "Sounds like _we're_ having an after-party."

They walked in at the start of a new song, Draco's roommates behind him with their jaws gradually dropping toward the floor. It was remarkable how many people were able to fit inside their dorm room.

Rage. That's one word to describe how Draco was feeling as he pushed people aside ruthlessly, shoving his way through the room and searching for a mop of black hair that was surely to blame.

And there he was, lounging on his bed without a care in the world, laughing at something Smith was saying into his ear and taking a beer from someone who passed him one with a thankful nod. He was wearing a suit, and Draco immediately knew that missing the dance wasn't something Potter had done of his own volition, wasn't something Potter had expected until it happened. No, Draco knew precisely who was to blame for this chaos and he was sitting right beside Potter, looking far too self-satisfied.

Draco yelled his name, but it could hardly be heard over the music and miscellaneous noise in the room. That in mind, he looked around for the source of the pulse-pounding music.

Twenty seconds later he was ripping a sound system out of the wall. He didn't know who it belonged to but at this point, he really couldn't care. The important thing was that he now had the rooms' complete attention. He had Potter's attention.

Harry had been well on his way to getting plastered -intent on forgetting this rancid day had ever happened- when the music mysteriously stopped playing. Looking in the direction Zach was, he blinked in surprise.

The raven had never seen Draco so angry, but that was beside the point. The boy looked immaculate, all angles and sharp features. Draco was the picture of elegance and more than ever, Harry regretted not going to the dance. His blonde hair was combed back, a curtain of white-blond silk falling into his porcelain face. He was snarling, distorting the beautiful contours of his visage like the reflection in a mirror doused with a glass of water. Eyes blazing and face flushed with anger, he looked nothing short of an avenging angel.

"Wow," was all Harry could think to say, jaw slack. He didn't notice the frustrated look Zach was giving him as he stared.

Through the chaos that was their living quarters, Draco's eyes flew toward his desk. More specifically, his eyes were drawn below his desk where the remains of what used to be his camera were being trampled on by people he'd never met before in his life.

Feeling utterly betrayed, Draco wanted to sob. In true Malfoy fashion, however, Draco took every emotion that could possibly be labeled as weak, crushed them into a tiny ball in the pit of his stomach and turned it into fury.

"Everybody out!" the blond yelled. When the crowd didn't move quickly enough, Draco pointed to the door, his voice rising louder. "Now!"

With the help of Dean and Ron's herding, the crowd started to dissipate, filing out the door in a jumble of miffed grumbling and indignation.

Harry watched them leave before standing up, shamed-faced. "Draco-"

"Don't think that excludes you, Potter," Draco snapped.

"What?"

"Come on, Harry," Zach coerced, pulling on his shirt. "We'll go to my room."

"_You_ aren't going anywhere," Draco corrected, the hatred in his voice completely unrestrained for once.

Forever rooting for the underdog, Harry rose to Zach's defense. "Would you calm down for a minute?"

"Why are you still here?" Draco wanted to know, indicating the raven should've already been gone by now. His demands would be met if it killed them all.

"Harry," Zach said, pulling on the raven's sleeve until the boy looked at him. "It's fine."

Harry shook his head, refusing to leave them alone together. "I'm not-"

"I'll meet you back at my room, okay?" the junior said, giving Harry a pointed look that said he'd take care of it.

The raven looked back on the last couple of weeks, the arguments these two have had. Obviously, whatever he was doing wasn't helping to ease the tension between the two. Sometimes, he figured, you just had to fight it out until you reached some sort of agreement.

Harry sighed in defeat, giving up and heading for the door. "Just don't kill each other."

Once the door shut behind him, the two blondes faced each other.

"Is this your idea of a truce?" Draco demanded.

"Oh, Draco, that's so yesterday," Zach trilled, sinking into the couch and crossing his legs. At Draco's look, he sighed. "I'm calling it off."

"What?" Draco's eyes narrowed. "I've been tip-toeing around you for a week, you fucking lunatic!"

"And I appreciate the effort," the junior said, "but your friend was right. It's pointless trying to blackmail someone like Theo."

"I am nothing like Nott," Draco objected, incredulous and offended at the comparison.

"Why are you arguing over this?" Zach asked suddenly.

"Because I didn't spend all week sucking up to you for you to go off and tell Potter anyway."

"That was your idea of sucking up?" Zach asked with a mixture of disbelief and amusement, then shook his head. "Besides, I didn't say anything about telling Harry anything."

"So you've thought of something more you want from me then? Is that it?"

Zach looked offended. "Of course not. I am capable of playing fair, you know."

Draco's brow furrowed. "Then what?"

Leaning back into the couch cushions, the junior sighed. "The first time I saw Harry, he was so... hot," he said, then laughed, "but god, was he stupid. There you were, practically throwing yourself at him, and he didn't even realize. Definitely not boyfriend material."

While Smith was talking, Draco went over to his desk, ripping a drawer open and taking out a cigarette. Smoking inside wasn't something Draco did under normal circumstances, not even at home, but nothing about this situation was normal. His nerves were shot.

Lighting up, Draco inhaled so deeply the filter collapsed. Turning back to where Smith was sitting, he heard a crack. Looking down, he caught sight of his now-broken camera and picked it up, pocketing it as he walked back to the junior.

"But then I saw him on stage and I knew he was going somewhere," the junior sighed. "Stupidity can be useful, I guess, if you know how to use it. Seeing you unhappy was enough for him to stand up in front of the entire school and risk you hating him on the off chance it would turn the situation in your favor. And it did," Zach laughed. "It was stupid and brilliant and it worked like a charm."

Draco closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. "Is this diatribe headed somewhere or do you just like hearing yourself speak?"

Zach glanced at Draco's cigarette, noticing how Draco was hardly looking at him. Not appreciating being ignored, he stood up and walked other to the other boy.

"Pay attention," Zach told him, and when Draco glanced at him defiantly and took another drag, the junior grabbed his hand. He watched Draco's eyes get wide as he brought the cigarette down on his open palm, crushing the lit end in his fist and smiling morbidly when Draco's eyes returned to his. He finally had the boy's attention. "Aren't you wondering why Harry's having such a bad day?"

Draco's hand hung limply in Zach's grip, too shocked to move. Mind racing, all he could do was stare.

"Well?"

"You're the one who set the library on fire," Draco stated, something clicking in his mind. Between the dance and the fire, no teachers would be on the lookout for unaccounted-for students having parties. "You knew he'd come looking for you if he thought you were hurt."

The junior tilted his head. "And?"

"You stole his suit to make him late."

"I'd already made him late. I stole his suit to get him out of the dorms," Zach corrected, letting go of Draco and brushing the ash off his hand.

"So you could throw him a party," Draco said, tossing the cigarette down with all the miscellaneous trash littering the floor and taking a step back.

"But that isn't all I've done," Zach mentioned, sounding proud of himself. He watched Draco's brow wrinkle as he thought about it. "Aw, come on. You were doing so well."

The only thing Draco could think of seemed ridiculous to consider.

"Come on, Draco. When you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, _must_ be the truth. You know this!"

"...Snape?" Draco voiced in disbelief. Severus had been unusually short with Potter today.

"You got it!" Zach laughed. "Who knew a little laxative in the faculty coffee pot would make him so irritable, huh?"

Draco thought Smith looked positively insane. "Why are you telling me this?"

"You and I are a lot alike," Zach smiled, "but the difference between us is that when I see something I want, I'm not afraid to take it. You, on the other hand, you're so terrified you can't even admit you might actually like him. You had him," he said, no longer smiling and shaking his head in a mockery of disappointment. "You had him and you just... let me take him. It's pathetic."

"You're insane," Draco lamented, marveling at how utterly freaking true that statement had turned out to be.

"I'm inventive," Zach corrected pompously, the tension in his eyes giving away the fact that he was angry. "There's a distinction. And the fact that Harry isn't the least bit suspicious proves that I don't need you to get to him. Consider it leveling the playing field, if you will. You tell Harry, so will I."

"What could you possibly want from him anyway?"

"Harry? Everything," Zach answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I want every little thing he has to offer. Everything I can take."

Draco fell back on the couch, trying to absorb everything that's happened within such an incredibly short time-span.

Zach smiled at him, walking backwards toward the door as he talked. "You want to know the best part? You never even stood a chance."

Draco waited until after he heard the door shut to bury his face in his hands.

Life, he thought, should not be this complicated. Though all he wanted for Smith now was a straight jacket, he'd been telling himself since they met that he was going to get rid of the junior one way or another. And really, what had he done? He felt like a dog that wouldn't quit barking, but was too afraid of getting blood on his teeth to bite anything but his tongue.

He'd been holding his breath around Smith for a week and Draco supposed he should feel grateful or relieved that he didn't have to anymore, but the junior backing out like this only served to make him angry. Angrier than he was before. Smith effectively canceling their little agreement and giving him blackmail-material in return meant the junior would rather remove Draco from the situation entirely than have to admit he needed Draco's help in any way when it came to Potter. He would rather keep the animosity between them and have Draco continuously look like the bad guy while manipulating the situation to make himself seem like a victim of Draco's seemingly unwarranted hatred. In Smith's perspective, Draco simply wasn't worth the effort of blackmailing.

Bringing himself out of his thoughts, Draco dug the camera out from his pocket. It had obviously been stepped on multiple times; the plastic hatch where the batteries and memory card were held was missing, the screen still intact but cracked into three pieces. It was nothing more than idle curiosity that had him wondering whether or not it still worked; honestly, he'd just as soon flood their bathroom trying to flush it down the toilet just out of spite.

Turning it on, he watched as it flickered to life. Flipping through the shots he'd taken within the last three months, he noted how they started changing the more recent he got. It wasn't by much, no, but it seemed a little more spontaneous the further he went, less orchestrated and more colorful.

He couldn't help but stop at the first picture of Potter, eyes bright as lightning and the broken glass of the screen cutting through his face. Draco refused to linger on it and hurriedly changed the picture for the next in line. And again, Draco paused. It wasn't something he recalled taking.

Potter had snapped this one, he remembered after a second or two, and the few after that which Draco had forgotten to delete. They were taken the night Potter decided to get high and, maybe through an act of contrition, relinquish all his secrets to Draco. Distantly and for the first time, the blond wondered if Potter would've done the same had he been sober.

All of them were just close-up shots of Draco laughing, amateur and out of focus. Draco looked terrible in them, flushed and teary from so much laughter. Despite that, he had to admit he looked happy.

The camera hit the wall with a dull and unsatisfying bang, the batteries falling out and rolling across the floor. The only thing Draco wanted to keep was the memory card, which was gripped tightly in his fist.

"Are you okay?"

Draco lifted his eyes from his lap, giving Seamus a sideways look before standing up and getting another cigarette. "Didn't I tell everyone to leave?"

Shuffling his feet, Seamus shrugged guiltily. "I had to pee."

"It figures you'd be the one to overhear everything," Draco said with a sardonic smirk, folding an arm across his chest and flopping back down on the couch in a graceless heap.

"That offer still stands, you know," Seamus told him, eyes sad and compassionate as he sat down gingerly on the other end of the sofa. "You can talk to me."

Draco shook his head, giving in. "You really want to know?"

Seamus nodded resolutely.

So Draco told him. He didn't really have anything left to lose. Why not? He told the Irishman everything he'd done, everything he'd planed and all about his father. If Seamus hated him for it… Well, that's just another reason to leave.

When Draco ran out of things to say, Seamus just sat there glaring at the wall in front of him. After a moment or two of silence, Draco watching him for any kind of reaction, he stood up determinedly and crossed his arms. "Alright, that's it," he told the ceiling.

Draco knitted his brows in apathetic confusion. "What?"

Seamus started pacing. "I've seen people get hung up over love, but you and Harry have taken it to a whole new level of stupid." He threw up his hands. "I tried to stay out of it, tried taking my wackadoo boyfriend's advise and let you work it out by yourselves, but obviously that is not going to happen without some kind of intervention on my part. Get over it, Draco. You're crazy about him. He's crazy about you. Put it together and what have you got?"

"A midget quoting _Cinderella_," was Draco's answer.

Seamus let out a rush of air through his nostrils, huffing like an angry bull. "I can't even blame Harry for how this turned out. You've been just as bad, if not worse. And at least he's been honest."

At that, Draco's eyes dropped and suddenly Seamus was sympathetic again. Sitting close, the Irishman laid a tentative hand on Draco's shoulder.

"Do you like him?" Seamus had to ask, wanting to know for sure before he went any further. Draco didn't say anything, but when he looked up his eyes were desperate and miserable. Seamus smiled winningly. "That's all you had to say."

Draco's eyes narrowed purely out of frustration. "What do you suggest I do then, Dr Love?"

"You could tell him," Seamus suggested easily, then tensed at the supremely skeptical look Draco was giving him that spoke magnitudes of the Irishman's dubious mental health. "Well, I don't see you trying to come up with anything!"

"What's the point?" Draco sighed. "It's like trying to swim against a current that just keeps getting stronger. Sooner or later, my arms are going to give out and I'll be swept away."

"Then maybe you're swimming in the wrong direction," Seamus proposed. "You're important to him, Draco. You just don't see things the way he does."

"Nobody sees things the way he does."

"I doubt he even knows you don't completely hate him," Seamus continued. "I mean, even at your best, you're not exactly nice to him."

Draco glared. "What do you want me to do? Throw myself at him?"

"No, I have a better idea," Seamus trilled, practically bouncing in his seat from excitement. "You, Draco Malfoy, are going to steal him."

Despite himself, Draco laughed. "You've seen one too many teen movies."

Seamus wasn't deterred. "Think about it, Draco. It's perfect! You want your dad to think he's your boyfriend, right? What better way to do that than to actually _make_ him your boyfriend? Now I know your first instinct is to lie and deceive, and for the record I think that's really sad, but look at where that's got you so far. This way, everybody wins! Except for Zach and your dad, of course, but they've pretty much got it coming anyway," Seamus added as an afterthought. "No offense."

The blond rolled his eyes. "None taken."

"And now that you're on even ground with Zach, you can't tell on him and he can't tell on you. With my help, it'll be easy. Granted, my plans aren't as convoluted and... evil... as yours are, but I happen to be the best matchmaker I know!"

Draco considered him for a moment, this selfless person who only wanted his friends to be happy. There was nothing in it for Seamus but the opportunity to revel in his own success and coo at the couple should he somehow succeed.

"I'm listening," Draco muttered, wanting to hear what the other boy had in mind but not agreeing to anything.

"Yay!" Seamus cheered as he jumped out of his seat, hearts in his eyes and birds chirping in the background. Abruptly, he cleared his throat. "Okay, I'm gonna come up with a list of steps for you to follow so that you can study it over Christmas. That way, you'll be ready when everyone comes back to school."

As if suddenly realizing the state of the dorm room, Seamus looked around and tsked. "Right now, though, maybe we should clean up a little."

"Why are you helping me?" Draco asked out of nowhere. Seamus blinked at him, uncomprehending. "I mean, I've been using Potter for self-gain since I met him. I'd think you'd be angry."

"We're friends," Seamus shrugged. It was simple as that.

Friends, Draco marveled. He supposed they were. Somewhere along the way, his roommates had managed to grow on him, much like fungus and almost as gross. Acceptance wasn't exactly something he was familiar with, but all of his roommates had given it to him freely, no matter how much he'd fought it. He suspected even the Weasel wouldn't completely detest him if Draco stopped being such an ass to him. Not to say he would.

It was crazy, Draco knew, but the idea of stealing Potter from Smith made him want to smile. It definitely appealed to his wicked side. Either way, Smith had to go. There was no question about it, not after tonight. But did he want Potter for himself?

Draco had to stop himself from laughing at the question. It was hilarious he even felt the need to ask.

Of course he wanted Potter. Even if he didn't realize at first, he'd wanted the raven since the moment he saw him. Even his mother knew it. And Potter wanted him too, Draco told himself, even if the idiot didn't know it yet.

_Mother will be ecstatic_, he thought, shaking his head in amusement.

But what if he didn't? What if he went through with this crazy idea and Potter just didn't feel the same? Seamus was right; Draco was far from nice to the boy. Besides, he didn't even know Draco was gay. Not that it would matter to someone like Potter, but still. Was this plan even worth it?

Draco thought about Potter's hands around his neck, then his lips on his throat. He thought about Potter opening doors for him and checking on him before he went to sleep. He thought about Potter freezing his ass off, driving countless miles in the snow and climbing his balcony in the middle of the night just because the raven wanted to see him. He thought about Potter kissing him goodnight.

"I like him," Draco said, looking to Seamus as if for his opinion. It was the first time he'd been willing to admit it out loud. Honesty, he thought, really wasn't so bad.

"I know," Seamus beamed at him, handing him the broom. "Isn't it great?"

Hesitant, Draco smiled back, finally prepared to clean up the mess he'd allowed Smith to make of his world and knowing he would never let it happen again.

The junior didn't stand a chance.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Semi-Precious Weapons: "Her Hair is on Fire." I highly suggest you go straight to YouTube and check this ridiculously underrated band out. (After reviewing, of course.)

Okay, so after writing about half of this (not a week after updating chapter 21) my computer had the tech version of a heart attack, then my tech guy had the real version of a stroke and I couldn't get it up and running again until about a month ago (Tech Guy's okay, btw). As I'm writing this my sister is on her way to a children's hospital where her new baby (my nephew) is going to have to have heart surgery. Although I'd much rather be with her at the hospital, I'm holding down the fort and taking care of my other two nephews while she's away. The only good news is that I'll be home for a while and writing to take my mind off of everything.


	23. Saccharine Saboteur

**Rating:** Mature.

**Warning:** Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness. Drug-use. Violence.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or the songs mentioned in this chapter.

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**Previously:**

Harry took his teasing Draco a bit too far. Zach demonstrated just how manipulative he could be after hatching a plan to make Harry miss the dance- then threw him a party. Later, after Zach called off his and Draco's agreement, Seamus convinced a miserable Draco that stealing someone's boyfriend was a good idea.

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**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

**Saccharine Saboteur**

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Christmas Eve had finally arrived, luring the students away from Hogwarts like the Pied Piper on a double-dose of Adderall. Seamus and Dean were the last to leave dorm room number sixty-six, and Harry tried to ignore their packing by focusing on the present Zach had told him not to unwrap until the next day. He wished he would've listened. It was an extravagant gift and more complicated than a phone should have any right to be.

"… lonely?"

Harry blinked up at the boy looking down at him from over the backrest of the sofa. "What?"

Seamus humphed at his inattention. "I said, are you sure you want to stay at school? You won't get lonely?"

"I'll be fine," Harry told him, brushing off his roommate's concern. It would've been more convincing if he wasn't humming 'Blue Christmas.'

"Because we don't have to leave today. We can stay until Sirius gets back."

Sirius had received a call from a friend who said they'd seen Peter sleeping on a park bench a town over. Being the caring friends that they were, he and Remus went out to look for him. Despite sleeping on a park bench being cliché as all get out, Harry understood that they didn't want their childhood friend to be alone and on the streets, especially during Christmas, and they promised to be back before tomorrow. Besides, on the slimmest chance that they actually did manage to find Peter, let's just say Harry had a few questions for the guy.

"My mom's not expecting us until tomorrow morning anyway," Dean added, closing one of Seamus' bulging suitcases and hauling it over to the door. His worry for Harry was greater than his blasé demeanor made it out to be, well-versed in the fine art of subtly in a way Seamus never cared to be.

Seamus pointed at his boyfriend like Dean just made his point. "See?"

Harry shook his head. "Really, guys. I think I can handle being alone for one night."

Seamus gave in with a longsuffering sigh, going limp-noodle and rolling himself over the edge of the couch to land on Harry in a heap of dead weight. Other than a discontented "Ooph" as the air rushed out of his lungs, all Harry did was chuckle when Seamus started poking him in the belly. "Why are you so stubborn, huh?"

"Draco says it's because I'm hopelessly trying to prove my independence," Harry offered, which said a lot as to what was on his mind.

Seamus sat up, squashing Harry's legs under him and giving the raven an evaluating look. He opened his mouth as if about to say something before deciding against it. He sighed. "Take care of yourself, okay? And promise me you'll stay out of trouble?"

"Okay, I promise," Harry said easily, fully prepared to ignore the Irishman sitting on top of him. It was a conflicting feeling; he didn't like coming off as unappreciative, but at the same time he hated people worrying about him.

"Talk is cheap," Seamus sniffed, poking his chin out and sticking up his pinky finger. "Pinky swear it."

Smiling, the raven hooked their fingers obligingly before giving Seamus the most sincere expression he could conjure up. "I swear."

"I turn my back for less than a minute…" Dean tsked, standing with his arms crossed at the arm of the sofa with a smile on his face. Harry bent his neck backwards to look up at him with a grin.

Seamus' face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Oh, believe me, if I wasn't off the market the Jaws of Life wouldn't be enough to get me off of him," he assured. "Hell, if you weren't such a killjoy-"

"Time to go, Seamus," Dean told him patiently, pulling his grinning boyfriend off the couch and tipping an imaginary hat down at Harry. "Merry Christmas, Harry."

"Yeah," Harry said, sitting up to watch them leave. "Merry Christmas."

The raven hadn't been lying when he said he'd be fine alone. Hell, most of his Christmas pastimes had been spent by himself and overall he was pretty used to it. He knew he didn't make a particularly credible picture, however, mopping around the dorm room like he was, but that didn't have anything to do with feeling lonely. Okay, maybe he was feeling a little lonely, but mostly it was… Well.

Yeah. It was Draco.

Harry felt like such a wimp brooding over it like he was, but his thoughts kept replaying the last couple of weeks inside his head. Ever get the feeling that you're missing something important? It was like that, nagging at him and on the tip of his tongue. They were practically strangers now, living in separate worlds. He didn't feel like they were close anymore, if they ever were. It was partly -if not entirely- his fault, he knew. Since Zach had entered the picture, Harry had to admit he was spending a lot less time with his friends. And Jesus, when did he turn into such a douche?

After Zach's impromptu party, Draco had seemed oddly… not pissed off. In fact, the last time Harry had seen him the blond looked nothing worse than strangely pensive. Still wasn't talking to Harry, though, which sucked. He'd been expecting a fight, their biggest one yet, and now he was left feeling strangely disappointed. How could they make up if they didn't fight?

This didn't make him a stalker, Harry assured himself. It made him kind of pathetic, sure, and if anyone caught him doing this he'd have no other choice but to hang himself in embarrassment, but it didn't make him a stalker. All he was doing was checking up on the boy and being the good, concerned friend that he was. And if that meant checking TDP for news on Draco… Well.

He knew the gossip blog would have something to say about how the Malfoy family was spending their Christmas. What he found, though, was a lot more than he was looking for.

'_Baby Malfoy Joins the Riddle Campaign'_

And okay, maybe he'd been expecting to hear the Malfoys' were jetting off to some posh ski resort somewhere, but this was just a ridiculous turn of events. According to the article, Draco was helping with the Riddle campaign fundraiser, a Christmas party of sorts –only for profit. Tom Riddle was even quoted saying how much he appreciated the boy spending his Christmas break helping 'the team.'

Leaning back into the couch, Harry tried to digest that information from an unbiased point of view. On one hand, it was the blonde's decision to spend the holidays how he wanted. Harry couldn't exactly tell him what to do, but at the same time, this felt like something Draco had been purposely hiding from him. He'd have said something about it otherwise, right? Maybe not. Draco's father could be the one who'd put him up to it, he supposed. From what he could tell, Lucius was exactly the type to force his son to do something he didn't want to. Harry couldn't quite put his finger on it; there was something about this that didn't feel right.

There was a picture above the caption, a snapshot featuring both generations of Malfoy and a slick-looking Tom Riddle with his arm slung companionably around the younger blonde's shoulders. Draco was wearing a careful expression Harry recognized as one that meant the blond was biting his tongue against something he wanted to say.

For no reason he could ascertain, that expression threw Harry's mind back to the last time he'd seen it, back to the roses Draco had received that day in Chemistry, the note Draco acted like he didn't want him to see and the surprise in the blonde's expression when Harry answered the… Hold up.

Harry had the feeling of dawning comprehension, and then smacked his forehead for missing it before. Riddle? Jeez, how obvious was that? So Draco had been lying when he said he didn't know who'd sent them. But why? Why would he lie about that? Moreover, why the hell was the chief of police sending Draco flowers? Harry planned to find out. Fuck being unbiased. Draco had always called him impulsive and reckless; it was about time to prove him right.

All it took was typing 'Riddle Campaign Fundraiser' into a search engine, and he had a plan. It was a little sketchy, sure, but a plan nevertheless.

His thoughts were interrupted by a buzzing sound coming from somewhere on the couch. Squished between the cushions, Harry found Seamus' cell phone. The call was coming from Dean and Harry answered it by stating the obvious. "Hey, your boy left his cell."

"_Yeah, I know. We're headed back right now."_

"Actually, um, I have a favor to ask," Harry paused, biting his lip. He hated having to ask this. "If you guys really wouldn't mind staying until later tonight?"

There was a minute pause, and Harry could imagine him exchanging a look with Seamus, speaking in that silent language of there's.

"'_Course not. What changed your mind?"_

Harry held back a sigh and told him, "It's Draco."

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"Draco," Riddle stated in surprise as the boy in question stepped into his office with a file box. "I thought for sure you'd be across the street, politely hating the company."

Riddle was in full uniform for once, sitting behind his desk and shifting through stacks of paperwork. A candy cane was sticking out one side of his mouth like a cigarette and he talked around it, looking grateful for Draco's distraction.

Draco dropped the box on the corner of Riddle's desk, blowing the hair out of his face. "Fundraising isn't exactly my idea of a Christmas party."

"Nor is it mine," Tom agreed, stamping a document with his signature and reaching for the next one. "Your father's keeping you busy, I presume?"

"I didn't anticipate having to do manual labor when I signed up for this," Draco admitted. And he hadn't. He wasn't sure what he had expected when they'd pulled up in front of headquarters, which was six hours ago, but this was definitely not it. His only function since noon had been a cross somewhere between a pack mule and an errand-boy. Maybe this was his father's cruel and sadistic way of punishing him. Still, it was either this or attending the fundraiser, mingling with people no younger than thirty as his mother's date and getting a headache from the corny Christmas tunes.

Riddle was smirking around the candy in his mouth. "If I recall correctly, you had very little to do with your contribution at all. It was your father who 'signed you up for this.'" He glanced up at Draco briefly before returning to his paperwork. "Why don't you take a break? I'll say you're taking my messages, should Lucius come looking for you."

Draco had been ready to leave the moment he arrived. Maybe he could sneak a smoke in the restroom or suddenly develop a stomachache and have to go home. "I should really-"

"Oh, I insist," the man said, kicking out a chair for Draco to sit. "After all, what your father doesn't know can't hurt him, am I right?"

Draco sat down compliantly after only a second of hesitation, truthfully thankful for the break but wary of the company. He'd seen Riddle a grand total of three times since leaving Hogwarts, and every time the man had been nothing but congenial. He had no definite reason to feel uneasy just being alone with him. Still, Draco couldn't shake this apprehensive feeling he got whenever in the man's immediate vicinity.

"Speaking of which, how did Mr Potter react to the news of having to meet your father?" Riddle questioned, then raised a brow at Draco's silence. "You haven't told him? It's just as well, I suppose. He's been through enough recently, what with the media drudging up the awful story of dear Lily and James' untimely demise."

Honestly, the second condition to his father's after-dinner deal hadn't crossed Draco's mind at all, but the thought was wiped from his brain completely at how familiar Riddle sounded speaking of Potter's late parents. He frowned. "Do you… know him?"

"Know him? I practically owe the boy my career," Riddle managed to say before the phone on his desk started ringing. He glanced up to Draco with an arched brow. "Are you going to get that?"

Draco turned the phone in his direction and sighed quietly before picking it up. "Campaign headquarters, this is Mr Riddle's office."

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Harry had it all worked out. He'd left his bike at Hogwarts and called a cab, just in case the evening didn't go as planned and someone happened to recognize his bike. The outlandish clothes Zach had picked out for him had actually come in handy for this occasion and there was a hefty check in his pocket with a ridiculously generous amount of zeros already written out for the Riddle campaign fundraiser. For all his preparation and forethought, though, he really should've thought to check the weather report.

It was just after he'd paid the cabbie that it started to sleet, the snowflakes melting on their descent. The warm front that had moved through Merlin had turned the snow on the ground into sludge, dashing the denizens' hopes for a white Christmas. It was wet and cold and Harry didn't particularly feel like going anywhere, but he had to find out what Draco thought he was playing at.

Seamus and Dean were there before he arrived, waiting close to the side of the building to keep themselves shielded from the miserable weather. Upon seeing them, Harry guffawed.

"What is _that_?" the raven laughed, gesturing to their choice of attire.

"You said to dress up -and I quote- 'trashy enough to appall high-society,'" Dean defended, pulling the leather jacket he was wearing tighter around himself. The action was more from the cold than from the fact that the leather waistcoat he was wearing underneath left incredibly little to the imagination.

Harry snorted. "Yeah, but what are you supposed to be? A leather daddy and a wannabe gang banger?"

"I was going to wear glittery wings and a feather boa," Seamus said, his agitated tone saying he'd been looking forward to that choice of costume. He gave his boyfriend a baleful look. "But then I made a completely innocent suggestion and Dean made me wear this."

"He said I should dress like a thug to scare the rich people," Dean explained reasonably. "Because I'm _black_."

Seamus rolled his eyes. "He completely misunderstood me."

"Well… don we now our gay apparel, I guess," Harry snorted with a shrug.

Seamus crossed his arms and stuck out a hip, the gesture at complete odds with his costume and making him look even more ridiculous. "What about you, huh? You look like Billy Idol jumped you with a can of hairspray and a piercing gun," he ridiculed. Then his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Is that my eyeliner?"

Harry scratched at the back of his scalp and pretended not to hear him. "You guys know what to do?"

Seamus brushed off his shoulder and assumed a comical swagger. "Let's hit it."

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"Cat's got your tongue?" Riddle asked, prompting a questioning look from the boy across from him. "You seem as though you have a question for me."

"It's nothing," Draco told him, tapping his stirrer on the rim of the Styrofoam coffee cup Riddle had handed him.

"I had no idea you were shy," Riddle smirked.

"I'm not."

"Then what is it?"

"You've claimed to be against homosexual lifestyles," Draco blurted, his expression turning confused, "yet you don't seem to have a problem with me whatsoever."

In any normal situation, Draco would be highly uncomfortable talking with anyone about his sexuality. He'd be uncomfortable talking about homosexuality in general. But there was no use denying it in Riddle's presence when the man already knew. Here, being gay wasn't a topic up for debate or question; it was just a simple fact, like saying Draco had blond hair. If Draco was truly honest with himself, it was sort of liberating to be open about it with someone, even if that someone happened to be Tom Riddle.

"Ah, I see your confusion," Riddle nodded, reaching into the jar on his desk and ripping a plastic wrapper off another candy cane. He offered one to Draco, who merely shook his head in refusal. "Allow me to explain. I have stated publicly and on numerous occasions that I am not in favor of same-sex marriage. That, however, does not mean to say I have anything against homosexual people in general."

Draco still didn't understand. "Then why are you against-"

"You see, Draco, despite our higher intelligence and the arrogance that leads us to believe otherwise, humans are very much animals. Everything we feel can be dissected and categorized into chemical reactions. Love, for example, may be a device that playwrights and their modern counterparts have used to cash in for centuries, but in the end it's just various chemicals in the brain being released."

Draco didn't know whether or not he should take offense to that. "So you're suggesting the only reason people of the same sex are attracted to each other is because they're just wired that way."

"Forgive me if I'm trampling on any romantical notions you may possess," Riddle smirked, then chuckled when Draco wrinkled his nose. "But yes, that is exactly what I'm suggesting. Despite what you may have been led to believe, humans are not monogamous creatures. In nearly every aspect of our lives, we are instinctually driven by sex."

That seemed to remind the police chief of something, and he looked at Draco closely. "Did you receive the roses I sent you?"

Draco felt his stomach drop. The question seemed to come out of nowhere, and for a brief second, Draco considered playing dumb and pretending he hadn't just to avoid the topic. The consequence of being caught in that little fib, however, far outweighed his compulsion.

Draco nodded. "I did, thank you. They were…" Creepy. "Nice."

"Nice, you say," Tom replied, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. His eyes were evaluating. "I had them arranged specifically for their recipient."

Draco looked up at that in surprise, but Riddle was already continuing.

"But I've gotten off-topic. My point is that marriage has nothing to do with love, it has nothing to do with gender, and it has nothing to do with sex. Since the beginning of time, marriage in itself was invented on the basis of religion and politics."

"Then why are you getting married?" Draco asked in distaste, quick to point out the inconsistency in the man's logic. Riddle looked at him in surprise, and Draco remembered who he was talking to. "I'm sorry, that was-"

"Nonsense, I'm positively thrilled you feel comfortable enough around me to speak your mind," Riddle smiled. "And to answer your question, if I plan on becoming mayor, I have to at the very least appear loyal and committed to something. I told you, marriage and politics go hand in hand. Besides, could you imagine your dear aunt Bellatrix dressing in white for a reason as frivolous as love?"

"I sort of imagined her wearing black to the wedding, actually," Draco muttered, still holding a grudge against the woman for the stunt she pulled at thanksgiving.

Riddle laughed. "Well, there you have it. Our engagement was a mutual agreement based on similar interests."

"That's not exactly PC," Draco noted.

Riddle winked at him with a wry smirk. "Just don't tell my voters that."

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Once Harry made it inside -Seamus and Dean hanging back for the moment- the man at the door gave him a once over. He was relatively young-looking, early-thirties at most, and Harry suspected his only purpose at this function was to watch the door. "I'm sorry; this fundraiser is for contributors only."

"We are contributors," Harry told him, maneuvering around him and pushing the check he'd pulled from his coat into the man's chest. "I think this should be enough to handle the cover charge."

While the man stood gaping at the slip of paper, Seamus and Dean followed him inside. Harry clapped his hands together upon a brief survey of the room and nodded.

"Disorderly conduct, gentlemen," the raven reminded, his tone gleeful and verging on excited, before turning to look at the boy beside him. "Dean, do you have the soundtrack for this evening's festivities?"

Slipping his coat off and throwing it over one shoulder, Dean nodded. "On it," he said, taking off in search of a music source and flipping a waiter's tray in the process to send hors d'oeuvres flying. Harry smiled at his commitment to character.

"E-Excuse me," stammered the man holding Harry's check, his eyes on the mess Dean had left in his wake. "Sir?"

Harry shot a look to his remaining roommate, and suddenly, Seamus was on the man like Amy Winehouse on crack.

"Hey!" Seamus chirped, eyeing the man flirtatiously over the rim of his shutter sunglasses and grabbing his tie. "What's your name? Do you wanna dance?"

Leaving Seamus to scar the poor guy for life and make a scene in general, Harry thought this had better work, because he'd just set Seamus loose on a room full of country club-frequenting patricians and glitterati with the directions to be as riotous and audacious as possible. And for Seamus, that was like coming into his own skin. In short, there was a reason his middle name was rumored to be 'The Shameless', capital letters mandatory.

But there was no going back now, and Harry's eyes swept the room in search of that conspicuous head of platinum-blond hair. Upon his initial sweep, Harry came up with nothing. Upon his second, however, he caught eyes with a Malfoy, just not necessarily the one he was looking for. As bright eyes lit up in recognition, Harry wondered if it was too late to go and hide.

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"No, Mr Riddle isn't here at the moment. Hosting the campaign fundraiser," Draco drawled into the phone, then rolled his eyes at the response he received. "Well, then you should've made a donation."

Riddle glanced up from the paperwork on his desk with an amused smirk. Latched onto the end of every one of the boy's suedo-apologetic, condescending lies was an unspoken 'stupid.'

Every ten minutes or so the phone would ring and it would be some self-important fat-cat calling to wish the police chief a Merry Christmas, making the call seem urgent to who they surely thought was a lowly secretary or the like. Draco would answer, dashing their hopes of sucking-up to Merlin's future mayor. Once the caller was huffed-up and indignant enough to threateningly ask for his name with the intention of reporting him, Draco gave them the same answer every time.

"My name? Draco Malfoy," he acquiesced, allowing a moment of stunned silence before accepting their apologies and well wishes. Then they'd want to chat. "My father? Oh, he's fine. Uh-huh, I'll tell him. Happy holidays."

Then he'd hang up, assuring another gift was being shipped to Malfoy Manor first-class and last minute. A lesser person would probably feel guilty about using his situation to get more Christmas presents from people aiming to get in good with his father, but Draco assured himself he deserved it. After all, answering phones wasn't something he was groomed for.

"I should probably be getting back," Draco mentioned offhandedly, hinting at his need to leave and standing up. He'd taken enough calls to fill his personal quota.

"Before you go, I was hoping you wouldn't mind answering a question for me," Riddle said, folding his arms across the table and waiting for Draco to nod his assent. For the first time that evening, his attention was focused completely on Draco. "I've been wondering… What exactly is the relationship between yourself and Harry Potter?"

Draco paused at that, thinking of an appropriate response. But what was the appropriate response to such an inappropriate question? It felt infinitely wrong to say they were just friends. "It's complicated," he settled on.

"Ah, I see," Riddle nodded understandingly, standing up and walking around his desk to casually lean on the other side of it. "Let me guess; after spending a certain amount of time in the boy's company, you find yourself… infatuated, charmed if you will. His actions lead you to suspect he feels the same, but after all's said and done and he gets what it is he wants, he's satisfied and unwilling to further any sort of relationship, a relationship you hadn't considered before and are starting to feel strangely denied of. Am I hot or cold?"

Draco hesitated, surprised at the intuition and sheer gall of the man before him. "Tepid," he answered in disbelief and just to be done with the conversation, turning his back to Riddle as he made his way toward the door. He was outraged. Just who did this man think he was speaking to? Still, what Riddle said was eerily close to the truth, everything besides Potter getting what he wanted from him. And that brought to question… what _did_ Potter want from him exactly?

Stuck in his thoughts and more than ready to leave, Draco only knew Riddle had followed him to the door when he looked up in front of him and the man was right there, expression insouciant and easy. It was as if he simply materialized out of thin air. Instinct had the blond taking a step back, startled.

"Before you realize it, you're starting to feel betrayed over the fact that he's warming someone else's bed, even though you know you really shouldn't. You didn't mean for it to go this far, but you're unable to simply let it go because he makes you feel like losing control and, despite how much you disgust yourself for it," Riddle said, leaning his back against the wall beside the door and locking his eyes on Draco's, "you happen to like that."

The phone started ringing, ignored through the heavy silence between them.

"I'm leaving," Draco told him clearly, held still for the moment by trepidation. Warning signals were going off everywhere and he knew there was no way this would end anything but badly unless he made himself scarce and quickly. Everything in him was screaming at him to get the hell out of there.

Riddle grabbed his hand before it touched the doorknob and Draco was startled into looking up at him. Holding his gaze, Riddle raised a calm, prompting eyebrow. "Well?"

"Thermal," Draco answered with a sneer, as if in spite. And maybe he wanted Riddle to know how invested he was in Potter, like maybe this would make the man back off, but whatever it was, his answer was honest.

Eyeing the door on the other side of the room, he noted that Riddle looked unaccountably pleased with his response, which was the opposite of what the blond had intended. And as Draco snatched his wrist out of the man's grasp and gave into his flight response, Riddle started speaking faster, following after him with a deceptively relaxed gait. This time, Draco was supremely aware of it.

"You try to convince yourself it's something deeper, that what you want from him is affection and devotion and not something as debase and superficial as lust, because that's just the way you are. You believe yourself to be above the needs of mere simpletons, but that isn't what fuels your fantasies, is it? No, you may reprimand yourself for it, but there are times you catch your mind wandering back to the dreams that have you waking up in the middle of the night with his name on your lips."

Riddle's beeper started next, the phone still blaring like an alarm in the background. Whatever it was that the outside world so desperately needed from him, the police chief seemed intent on ignoring it.

"Arctic," Draco snarled, mentally assuring himself that it wasn't a lie. What Riddle said wasn't true. It wasn't. It couldn't be. These feelings he had for Potter couldn't be as shallow as Riddle was making them out to be. There was no way. Potter was the first person he'd ever felt this way about, it couldn't just be physical.

But wasn't that what Riddle was talking about not so long ago, how everything a person felt emotionally could be attributed entirely to hormones? He hadn't exactly disagreed then, had he?

He made a desperate reach for the doorknob, actually managing to open it this time, but he jumped and lost his grip as Riddle came up behind him, the man's arm shooting past the blonde's head and slamming the door shut with an ominous bang as the other moved to grab Draco's hand.

"And now, even at his most platonic touch, you have to summon all of your self-control just to keep your hands from shaking."

Draco's back hit the door as Riddle spun the blond around to face him, winching the boy to meet his eyes by the harsh grip he had on Draco's chin. Riddle's leg was suddenly holding him in place, forced between Draco's own and pushing upward. The hand that wasn't busy bruising the boy's face had Draco's own slammed into the door above his head and held there by a crushing grip that made the blond grimace in pain. Then it was trailing a path down Draco's collar, questing fingers hooking under the first button of his shirt and pulling.

"Theoretically, you know you could take the initiative and reawaken what was for him a brief entanglement, but that isn't the way you want it, is it?"

Furious and defensive, Draco managed to come out of his shock enough to lash out at the unwanted arms surrounding him, the unwelcome hands touching his skin. But Tom Riddle was the chief of police for a reason and Draco wasn't exactly trained in combat. Before he was even able to make contact, Riddle had dropped his chin and grabbed his hair, pulling so hard Draco was sure he meant to rip it out.

The sound that was wrenched from his throat was small and pathetic and Draco hated himself for making it. In the commotion and the blonde's resistance, the first two buttons of his shirt had snapped from the fabric and fell to the floor. Draco never thought he'd ever be wishing for Smith's mutant inability to feel pain.

"You twisted… fucking…"

Ignoring Draco's gasping insults, Riddle leered at him. "You want him to want you _worse_ than you want him. You want him to need you bad enough to drown in you, like an addict without any hope of recovery. You want that wonderfully _awful_ feeling you get from being _used_."

With every word that Riddle punctuated with a growl, the tighter his grip got on Draco's hair, like he was intent on hearing the boy make that sound again. Riddle was making his feelings for Potter into something ugly and twisted and Draco felt depraved for the little voice in the back of his head recounting the way he'd felt with Potter's hands around his throat.

"But what you have yet to realize is, with a face like yours, you can get that anywhere."

"Get off," Draco growled around clenched teeth as Riddle pulled out his tucked-in shirt, snatching at the hem with the hand that wasn't tangled ruthlessly in his hair.

"Your hands are shaking," Riddle noted with an insensate smile, as if this was something Draco wanted but wouldn't admit to.

Draco's eyes were wide when Riddle's lips descended on his own, dry and pressing harshly. And suddenly it occurred to him the only way he was going to get out of this.

With a grimace and a whimper, he started to press back.

"That's it…" Riddle praised, delighted and smug at Draco's sudden compliance. His eyes were taunting and sadistic. "Tell me, Draco, is this what you were afraid of telling your father?"

The grip Riddle had on his hair slackened and finally disappeared to make work of removing Draco's belt. His scalp stinging, Draco let go of Riddle's arm, the one he'd been trying to pull away from his head. One of his hands moved to the back of Riddle's neck, as if to keep him close, while the other held onto the fabric of the man's uniform, sliding down toward Draco's lifeline.

"That you get off on being manhandled?"

Outside and in, Draco felt like he was struggling. This was a situation he never would've considered. Before today, things like this only happened in the news, certainly not to him. Even now, it didn't seem real. It felt like a nightmare he would wake up from at any moment. But you can fight off a dream, and you can force yourself to wake up and forget it. But this isn't something you can wake up from, not even if you tried really, really hard.

Draco's belt was gone and skidding across the floor far sooner than he would've like, Riddle's hands simultaneously unbuttoning his pants and sliding up under his shirt. His mouth was at Draco's collar, sucking hard and ensuring there would be a mark. And then Draco was unsnapping the man's holster.

The whole world became humid and his skin felt as if it didn't fit anymore. He didn't want to breath, didn't want to take in the scent of Riddle's tasteful cologne. The taste of peppermint on his lips was making him nauseous and there wasn't enough air in the room. Every noise that he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from making seemed to echo off the walls, along with the rabbit-fast rate of his heartbeat. He was sweating, but his fingertips were so cold he could hardly feel them.

"I wonder what he would say," Riddle mused morbidly, candy cane breath hot and moist on Draco's throat, "if he could see his pride and joy at this very moment."

The hand gripping him through his pants and the devastating reaction that attention was causing slipped into the very back of his mind, and suddenly all Draco could think of was how he hadn't expected a gun to be quite this heavy.

**::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

"Harry, my rakish future son-in-law, what on earth would you be doing here?"

Narcissa Malfoy looked him over with a disapproving frown, maybe because his shoes weren't winter-appropriate. Harry suddenly felt embarrassed letting her see him like this, dressed like an overnight degenerate.

Trying to find a reasonable excuse, Harry cleared his throat twice to stall for time. "Um…"

The woman hummed as if Harry had just answered her suspicions. "Sabotage, is it?"

Harry dropped his head with a grimace, feeling like a naughty puppy being swatted at with a rolled up newspaper. "Yes, ma'am."

Honestly, Harry liked Draco's mom. She might be a little eccentric, but she'd been really nice to him since they'd met. Not once had she judged him or treated him like a child. And she loved Draco. He didn't want to make the wrong impression or cause her any trouble.

Narcissa gave him a pat on the shoulder and a warm smile. "Not to worry, dear. If it wasn't for the love I have for my husband and weakness for event planning, I wouldn't even be here." She frowned a bit to herself. "Or was it the weakness for my husband and love for planning events?"

Harry suddenly noticed how blitzed the woman looked, only coming off as ditsy if you'd never seen her sober. And it wasn't until then that he registered her 'son-in-law' greeting. She was a happy drinker, Harry would give her that. But still… "Uh, don't take this the wrong way, Mrs Malfoy, but maybe you should hold back on the eggnog a little."

Narcissa laughed pleasantly. "Eggnog? Please, darling… It's champagne!"

"Actually, have you seen Draco anywhere?" Harry finally thought to ask. "I heard he was supposed to be here."

The woman tilted her head, curious to know why her son's presence was needed so urgently. "He's across the street at headquarters, I'd imagine, along with his father."

That was the moment a classic version of 'I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus' was taken off the sound system, replaced soon after with a punk-rock rendition of 'I Saw _Daddy_ Kissing Santa Claus.' Narcissa raised a brow at him inquisitively, the rest of the room staring up at the ceiling as if they'd honestly never heard something so scandalous in their lives.

That was Dean's first assignment, and at that moment he was probably jamming a lock so no one could get in to change the play list. Give him a few minutes and he would be moving onto his second assignment; infiltrating catering.

There was a commotion to their left that drew their attention; Seamus, his hoodie discarded to show off the cotton-candy pink wife-beater he'd been wearing under it and grinning like a shark as he tried to get the unfortunate soul they'd met at the door to dance with him. The poor guy was tomato-red and mortified. He didn't even notice the check he'd been holding was no longer in his hand. The more handsy the Irishman got with him the shriller his voice became. As planned, they were drawing a lot of attention.

"Well, my night just became exceedingly more interesting," Narcissa mused. "Are there any landmines you feel the need to warn me about before I end up stepping on one?"

"Don't eat anything," Harry advised immediately, grim-faced and serious as he watched Dean trail a waiter into another room.

Narcissa studied him for a moment before smirking into her fluted glass, her eyes flicking across the crowd of unsuspecting targets. "Ohh, this will be fun," the woman trilled, a note of wicked pleasure coloring her voice. This was where Draco got his evil, Harry was sure.

The raven cleared his throat again. "So, uh… across the street?"

**::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

Up until the year nineteen-seventy-three, homosexuality was widely considered to be a mental illness. To this day even, self-proclaimed 'experts' still debate over whether it's caused by natural or nurturing factors. Genetics versus upbringing. Some claim it to both.

Draco had realized he was gay was when he was eleven and couldn't look the pool boy in the face without blushing. Looking back on it now, Draco had the suspicion his father had noticed his odd behavior around the oft-shirtless teen, because soon after he'd been hired he'd been replaced with a balding, middle-aged man who couldn't speak English for the life of him.

It hadn't really sunk in until two years later, when his father had begun pushing Pansy on him. Being gay hadn't been a problem until then, until he started noticing how his father had begun acting differently around him. When his father started acting ashamed of him, that's when Draco actually started being ashamed of himself. Lucius had convinced him that there was something wrong with him, that he wasn't good enough, that he just didn't fit the bill anymore. That was when Draco decided to grow up and become the man his father obviously expected him to be. It was then that he wanted to be a good son, the son his father wanted, and it hurt a lot that he suddenly had to try when he didn't have to before. That was the year he started calling him Father, because only girls could get away with calling their fathers 'Daddy' without being subjected to any number of embarrassing taunts from other children.

Up until puberty, he and his father had been close, as close as a father and son could be. Now, though, Draco couldn't remember the last time he'd shared a smile with the man. Trying and pushing and working to be the perfect son had gotten him nowhere, and it was exhausting. Deep down, Draco knew he just wanted his father back. He just wanted to be able to call him Daddy again without getting disapproving looks in return. Why did being a good son have to mean sacrificing his happiness?

"Draco?"

Giving that up had been easy, but Draco had a feeling that he never would've had the courage to let go of his obsession with pleasing his father if he didn't have Potter, another person to obsess over. Because if he was honest, being with Potter made him feel more himself than he ever did with anyone else. Potter didn't have any expectations of him, didn't want anything but to be around him. Being with Potter was like embracing a person he'd left behind, a person he had forgotten he actually was.

"You're soaking wet. What are you doing out here?"

Pretending to be someone he wasn't was easy, too, but somewhere along the way he had started to become that person, that miserable, miserable person who was cracking under the pressure more and more every day and quickly headed for a mental breakdown. If he was honest, Potter's appearance in his life had probably saved him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Draco registered someone grabbing his shoulder and without even meaning to, he couldn't fight the instinctive urge to jerk away from the contact. It was that uncontrollable movement that brought him back to where he was, to what just happened. To what just happened to him. And even worse, what _could've_ happened to him.

He felt humiliated and victimized, angry at himself for trusting Riddle enough to allow himself to be alone with him and for the simple fact that he was _letting_ himself feel humiliated and victimized. More than anything, he hated that not everything Riddle had told him was a lie.

Whether it was nature or nurture, Draco couldn't deny what he felt whenever Potter's eyes grew dark with whatever intense emotion he was feeling at the time. And maybe that was the reason Draco loved riling him up so much, but whatever the reason, Riddle hadn't been wrong when he said Draco liked feeling out of control, hadn't been wrong about Draco disgusting himself because of it.

If Riddle was right about one thing, then that was it. Draco didn't have the energy to deny it. Potter's hands around his throat, the grip on the back of his neck to keep him close, how the raven sometimes acted as though Draco belong to him and nobody had the right to suggest otherwise; it excited him more far more than anything else.

'_Your hands are shaking.'_

But was it just Potter that instilled those feelings in him? Or could it be anyone? Draco hadn't thought anyone could make him feel like Potter did, but that belief had just been put into question.

'_With a face like yours, you can get that anywhere.'_

It wasn't his fault, he knew that. He was a teenage boy, for god's sake; a stray thought was enough to get him excited. Despite his reassurance, Draco was disgusted with himself. He knew without a doubt he didn't want Riddle's hands anywhere near him, but why hadn't that made a difference at all in how his body reacted to being touched, even as roughly as it had been?

He was brought back out of his thoughts by someone prying something out of his hands, and only when he looked down did he realize he was still grasping Riddle's gun. Letting go as if shocked, Draco stared up to whoever was with him and froze when he saw who it was.

For a second, Draco thought he was seeing things, because why else would Potter be leaning in front of him in the melting snow just outside of campaign headquarters? But the warmth radiating from the arm Potter had around his waist was too good to be imagined and Potter looked just as surprised as he did, concerned beyond measure.

Draco heard his own breathing hitch and couldn't help but think, _Oh God, I think I'm crying_.

**::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

Harry could only watch as Draco just sort of clung to him, his eyes wide and watery against the raven's damp collar. The blonde's hands almost clawing at the sleeves of his jacket, Draco let out a heartbreaking sob that made Harry's chest constrict painfully. He rubbed his hand up and down the blonde's back as it heaved with every shuddering breath the boy took in, shushing him with a litany of 'it's okay.' Harry didn't know how long Draco had been out there, but the boy was practically devoid of body heat.

"Angel, tell me what's wrong. Tell me what happened," Harry pleaded, voice desperate. Another sob was his only response. Harry tightened his grip, frantic and worried sick. "Draco, please!"

"Take me home," Draco let out in a rushed exhale, eyes drooping but growing more alert by the second. The words seemed to take whatever energy he had left and he pulled the other boy closer, hiding himself in Potter's jacket like it was somewhere he could stay. "Please," he added in a shaky breath.

At Draco's long-awaited response, Harry looked up and heaved a foggy sigh of relief into the darkening sky before nodding. "Okay," he answered softly, stopping his petting to simply hold the boy close. He nodded again. "Yeah, we'll go home."

Pulling Draco to stand with him, Harry awkwardly shrugged off his jacket, forcing Draco to put it around him and keeping the shivering boy close as they crossed the street. The blond didn't seem to want to walk, so it took a while, but once they were at Seamus' Hummer Harry didn't know whether or not he should leave him. By some small mercy, the doors had been left unlocked and Harry guided Draco into the back seat, glad he left his bike at home. Thankfully, he didn't have to leave to go look for Seamus, because his roommates took that moment to show up, bursting out of the building with grins at a pace that said a lot as to the state of the room inside.

"Harry! What are you-" Seamus cut himself off with a gasp, looking through the window at Draco with wide eyes. "Holy shit. What-?"

"We need to leave," Harry interrupted, a note of urgency in his voice as he shut Draco's door.

"Y-Yeah, sure," Seamus immediately agreed. "But Harry-"

"I don't know," the raven answered, eyes desperate and asking the same question before jumping into the backseat opposite Draco.

Harry didn't say a word on the drive back to Hogwarts and, if possible, Draco said even less than that. As for Dean and Seamus, well, their looks said a lot. They didn't dared vocalize any of it, though, and Harry couldn't blame them. He was more than shocked. He was angry, scared and worried sick. But more than anything? He was confused. Draco –this Draco- wasn't anything like the boy he knew. This Draco was listless and staring out the window like it held the answer to everything, like the world beyond this car ride didn't exist at all. This Draco wasn't wearing his seatbelt, either, but Harry didn't want to say anything.

Seamus didn't need to be told where to go, and when they pulled up in front of the entrance building of the desolate boarding school, he left the car running. Harry gave him a questioning look, and Dean gestured to the luggage in the back. Nodding and actually a little grateful he and Draco were going to be alone, Harry nudged Draco's shoulder.

"Draco," he said, jostling the boy from the on-and-off doze he'd fallen into on the ride over. The moment he became aware enough of his surroundings, Harry opened the door and took the blonde's hand, only to drop it when Draco winced in pain.

Seamus honestly looked like he was trying not to cry, Dean's hand a comforting weight on his shoulder. Harry tried not to notice, truly incapable of handling anything more at the moment than the boy in front of him.

"We're here," he told Draco, stepping out of the car and waiting for the blonde to do the same. He threw a wave to his departing roommates once they were at the door, his attention too focused on the way Draco just kept looking around, not really seeing anything.

It was dinner time for the remaining students and teachers, and Harry was grateful they didn't run into anyone. The moment they stepped inside their dorm room, Draco started shedding himself of his cold, damp clothing. Harry was cataloging every injury he could find, making a list of offenses against who had done this and making a promise to himself that every mark would be justified.

The top buttons missing on Draco's shirt and the nasty bruise on his pale collar made Harry clench his jaw. A belt loop on Draco's pants was ripped, and Harry stood up to get Draco something to wear so he wasn't just staring like a creep and being useless. The blond was shimmying out of his pants when Harry came back with the long-sleeved linen nightshirt he'd found in the very back of Draco's dresser. It didn't quite reach the bottom hem of Draco's Armani boxer-briefs and would do almost nothing to keep him warm, but after Harry had the boy shallow a couple of aspirins and pulled the covers up to Draco's chin, that was no longer a problem.

"It was Riddle, wasn't it," Harry said, not a question so much as a request for affirmation.

Draco looked up in befuddled surprise. "How-?"

"That's the only reason I was there," Harry admitted. He met Draco's eyes with impassivity. "The flowers? You lied to me."

Swallowing his guilt, Draco looked away. "I'm sorry."

Harry sighed; an apology wasn't what he was looking for. "Draco, this is… You have to tell me what happened. This is driving me crazy."

"Nothing happened," Draco told him, sitting up and shaking his head. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about it.

The anger Harry had been trying so hard to keep hidden slipped through his expression. "Something happened," he insisted forcefully. Disbelief clouded his voice. Draco could _not_ be protecting this asshole.

"Nothing like that. I wasn't…" And Christ, Draco couldn't even say the word. He knew what it _looked_ like, but he didn't want Potter thinking that was what happened. "Nothing happened."

"Draco, I found you sitting alone outside, freezing and looking the way you did, _with a gun_."

"I didn't kill him, if that's what you're worried about," Draco told him callously.

"We still have to do something," Harry insisted.

"What is this 'we'?" Draco asked in disbelief. The raven gave him a hard look, because Draco was crazy if he thought Harry wasn't a part of this now. "He's the chief of police, Potter. Not to mention my father's employer."

"That doesn't mean he can just get away with it!" Harry persisted heatedly, his anger getting the best of him. "You have to tell someone. He has to pay for what he did to you."

"Just what do you expect me to do? This isn't a court case. The most he'll get is a slap on the wrist and cut out of the election," Draco foretold. He couldn't believe this was even up for debate. "That is, if it even goes to trial, which it won't because he's the chief of police and he has the district attorneys office in his pocket."

"I am so sick of people getting hurt and dying and nobody doing anything about it," Harry seethed. "So you're not gonna do anything because you don't think it's worth it. You think if you press charges the media will blow it up and everyone will know, and Riddle will walk away scot-free because he's an important person, leaving you to deal with the aftermath. What would you do if I told you I was going to do something about it?"

Draco didn't even blink. "I'd deny it and refuse to tell you anything ever again for betraying my trust."

"And when this happens again to somebody else?" Harry inquired. "How're you going to feel then?"

"The ostrich syndrome," Draco told him, face completely blank. "If I don't see it, it doesn't exist. This is none of your business anyway, so do me a favor, Potter. Stay out of it."

There was a knock on the door, deliberate and no-nonsense. McGonnagal's knock.

Giving Draco a look that said to keep quiet, Harry swung Draco's curtain closed just in case and headed for the door. It wasn't until it was halfway open that Harry remembered how he was dressed, and he cursed mentally as the woman gave him a slightly distasteful once-over, but since students were not required to wear their uniforms during non-learning hours, she couldn't really say anything. As hideously monstrous as his attire was to her retinas, it wasn't exactly a dress code violation.

"Professor," Harry greeted the woman warily. As expected, she got right to the point.

"Mr Potter, you are aware that there is certain protocol for students staying over the holidays? One of which is that they must be on the roster. If they are not on the roster, they must be signed out. If for some reason they fail to do either, I get the distinct pleasure of tracking them down and informing their immediate caregivers. Is this an activity you think I enjoy partaking in?"

"No, ma'am," Harry answered, shamefaced and pitiable.

McGonnagal sighed in exasperation at the guilty puppy expression Harry was currently sporting. "Does your godfather know you're still here, Mr Potter?"

"Um, I was just about to call him, actually," Harry explained with innocent eyes. It was pretty ironic, really. Usually, it was his roommates covering for him being out after curfew. Now it was just him, explaining why he wasn't gone. "To let him know. Not that he'd mind if-"

The woman before him closed her eyes and held up a hand to silence his rambling. "And is there anyone else in this room that you have yet to inform me of?"

"Well, you're here, obviously. And me, of course, so-"

"Call your godfather, Harry."

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Shaking her head, the Professor walked away looking incredibly put-upon.

Feeling awkward, Harry idled by the door before making his way back to Draco, hoping against all odds that the boy had somehow fallen asleep before he had embarrassed himself with his terrible lying abilities. When he opened the curtains, Draco gave him a deadpan look.

"That was just sad," the blonde commented humorlessly.

It was as if they'd called a temporary ceasefire, and now that Draco was comfortable and not freezing, he couldn't manage to fall asleep. Instead, he kept his eyes on Potter as the raven left and came back from the bathroom with an ace bandage and started wrapping his wrist, careful and watching Draco's expression for pain. Even after the raven was finished, he didn't let go.

Harry sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you, I'm just-"

Draco scoffed quietly to himself, letting his hand slip out of Harry's gentle grasp. "Morally outraged at the corruptness of our legal system?"

"Pissed off that you're hurt and I wasn't there," Harry corrected miserably.

Draco looked at the boy beside him. Of course Potter would blame himself, the hopeless martyr. Knowing exactly what the raven was feeling and why, Draco couldn't bring himself to hold it against him. Potter felt responsible for his wellbeing and thought he'd let him down. He felt useless and disappointed in himself and needed reassurance and, fuck, Draco was so not up for that.

"It won't happen again," Draco told him instead.

"You're right," Harry affirmed with a solid determination that seemed to threaten Draco's freedom to go anywhere alone. That or Riddle's ability to have continued use of his jaw.

And wasn't that just like the blockhead, using violence as the answer to everything? Draco ended the conversation with an eye-roll and an unimpressed, "Whatever."

The tension finally seemed to seep out of the raven's shoulders. "You scared me," he said, voice drained and relieved.

The sentiment seemed a little out of the blue to Draco, and he quirked a brow. "What?"

"Back there," Harry clarified, staring down at his hands like he didn't know what to do with them. "I swear to god, I didn't know what to do. Still don't."

Now that Potter didn't have anything to keep him occupied, he was becoming restless and broody. Sympathetic despite himself, Draco sighed. If Potter needed to be taking care of him to feel needed and helpful, what could it hurt to let him? "I need a favor," the blond requested.

Looking up, Harry nodded calmly. "Anything."

**::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

"I've never had to break into a bathroom before," Harry mused, standing up and opening the successfully unlocked door. "What's so special about the Perfect's bathroom, anyway?"

"It's perfect," Draco answered as he walked inside, looking back to the raven behind him when Potter didn't move to leave. "Are you waiting for a tip? What?"

"Nothing," Harry told the wall, a hand running its way through his hair. "It's just I've never been in the Perfect's bathroom before, is all." Draco stared at the boy in disbelief until he was uncomfortable enough to look away and say, "But I can go. No biggie."

With a scoff, Draco left him in the hallway, keeping the door open behind him in invitation. "Get in here, Potter."

It was by far the most luxurious bathroom Harry'd ever been in, and he looked around like a curious child as he closed and locked the door behind him.

Leaning over the edge of the tub, Draco almost set the water temperature as hot as he could stand it, but then thought that might be a cliché and had to force himself not to make it freezing just to go against the stereotype. In the end it was maybe just a little hotter than he would usually have it.

Once he was satisfied, Draco turned to look at Potter -who was snooping through a cabinet by the sinks- and cleared his throat loudly. Once he had the other boy's attention, he twirled his finger in a gesture meaning he wanted Harry to turn around. "A little privacy," Draco requested expectantly. The raven threw him a quizzical expression.

"Why? You don't have nothing I don't."

"Turn around or leave, caveperson," the blonde demanded hotly, giving Potter an annoyed glare as he pulled his shirt over his head.

In that moment, Draco couldn't recall why he'd thought this was a good idea. He knew he wanted to make Potter feel useful, but how did that suddenly include him being in the same room while Draco was bathing? Nevertheless, Draco was thankful that the raven hadn't remembered what he had told them the day they met; that he was once a Perfect and still possessed a key.

Grumbling at the insult, Harry obliged, putting a hand over his eyes and waiting. "I am sorry, you know," the raven announced to the room, rocking on his heels. "About the last week or so. And this is probably the worst time to bring it up, but… I don't know. Carpe diem, right? Honestly, I didn't know about the party beforehand, and if I did I would've stopped it."

"I know that," Draco told him, trying to come off as unconcerned and not really succeeding.

"And what I blurted out in the caf, I didn't realize it would upset you like it did."

Draco took a second to consider that. "Maybe I was a bit too liberal with the cold shoulder," he conceded, slipping into the water and under quickly to wet his hair.

"But I shouldn't have kissed you in the first place. That was completely out of line."

Wiping the water and bubbles away from his eyes, Draco looked over at Potter's tense shoulders curiously. This was the first time his roommate had mentioned this imaginary line, but Draco had a feeling the raven was constantly trying to avoid crossing it. Potter sounded genuinely sorry, like he was berating himself for overstepping some self-perceived boundaries.

"You can look now," the blonde mentioned indifferently.

Harry dropped his hand and came to sit on the edge of the Olympic-sized bathtub, opening the already-unzipped bag Draco had brought with him to have something to do with his hands. "So is this what you do when you're stressed?" the raven inquired in offhand curiosity, uncapping a bottle of shampoo and sniffing its contents.

"At least I don't go around beating people up," Draco remarked. He threw a glance at Potter and saw the raven with his shower bag. "What are you doing?"

"What makes you smell like vanilla?"

Draco blinked. "Excuse me?"

"There's nothing in here that would make you smell like vanilla," Harry explained, attention still on rifling through the bags contents. "And Hogwarts uses the same laundry detergent for everyone. Your growing collection of hair-care products doesn't smell anything but expensive, and the same thing goes for your cologne, even though you barely ever wear any."

Harry looked up when he felt Draco watching him intently. "What?"

And then Draco was pushing himself stealthily forward through the foamy water and rising up to grab the front of his shirt, pulling him down to Draco's level without ever breaking eye contact. Perplexed, Harry let himself be pulled closer, a dripping wet arm wrapping itself around his neck and soaking the fabric of his shirt. But Draco had bubbles in his hair, and Harry couldn't have cared less about a shirt.

Draco was dragging him in like a fish on a hook, and Harry was spellbound by his face. Grey-blue eyes were watching him carefully, red around the edges, lashes wet and darker than normal. There were bruises along his jawline.

_This was a terrible idea_, Harry thought to himself, dangerously close to panicking. Just what in the hell was he thinking, staying in a bathroom with Draco completely naked and wet and in a tub less than a few feet away?

That few feet disappeared in seconds, and Harry was officially in the hot water now, holding himself up with his hands flat on the bottom of the tub and the water up past his elbows. It wasn't until Draco broke eye contact, flicking down in a quick second before meeting his again, that Harry realized what was coming, but by then he couldn't move.

It was barely a kiss at all, feather light and gone in an instant, but Harry's eyes closed of their own accord anyway. When he opened them again, Draco was cautiously watching his face for a reaction. He wasn't sure what his expression conveyed –Draco didn't seem like he knew either- but the blonde was pulling him closer again, and with his arms being the only thing holding him up, Harry was presented with two choices; get in or get dragged in.

It was a combination of both that had his jeans clinging heavily to his legs and his shoes sopping, but that was the last thing on Harry's mind at the moment because Draco's mouth was open hotly against his.

The situation was far too out of his grasp, and before he knew it, his hand was sliding up a slippery thigh to find purchase on the blonde's hip while the other stayed rooted to the bottom of the tub to steady himself. Harry found himself kissing back before he even registered what he was doing, and suddenly everything got a lot faster.

The water sloshed as Draco glided closer, pressing himself against the now transparent fabric of the shirt clinging like a second skin to Harry's chest. Far from dissuading the action, Harry couldn't think fast enough to process what was happening. Feeling it came much easier, though, and he lost himself in the sensation of licking Draco's mouth open wider.

But there was something about the way Draco was moving against him, something in his kiss and the urgent fingers clawing at his shirt. It was exactly like one of their fights; starting out innocently enough until one of them goes too far and the situation starts to spiral out of control, Draco pushing and trying to bully him until Harry can't stand it anymore and has to grab him.

And that's exactly what he did. With his back against the side of the tub, Harry put a hand behind Draco's bent knee and pulled until the blonde was straddling his denim-clad thigh. At that, Draco broke their kiss with a gasp at the much needed contact and Harry bit at the reddened lower lip before him just because. His other hand was using the grip he had in the boy's hair to angle Draco's mouth back to his.

This turned out to be a mistake because the second his grip tightened in blonde hair, Draco hissed at the pain the action caused. But the blonde wasn't anywhere near wanting to stop, pale digits traveling under the hem of Harry's shirt, willing it off. And that was when Harry realized it; this was not about him. Not at all.

"Hey," Harry said, the word coming out as a hoarse whisper without his meaning to. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Draco, hey."

At his name, Draco snapped out of it completely, staring at Potter with eyes gradually growing larger as the situation fully sunk in. Then the blonde was off of him in two seconds flat. He could only look at Potter for little more than a second (dripping wet and fully clothed, shirt clinging to the muscles of his chest and stomach, eyeliner he never wore smudged around his oddly dark eyes) before pushing the heels of his palms into his eyes and groaning in frustration. "Fuck," he cursed to himself. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

"C'mon, Draco," Harry coaxed, settling a hand on Draco's shoulder and urging him to look up. "Look at me," the raven told him. "I understand, okay? I get it."

Reluctant, Draco looked up through his fingers. "Really?"

"Not at all," Harry said, the edges of his lips twitching upwards, "but I'm sure you have your reasons."

"You're laughing at me," Draco stated in disbelief, outrage giving him the confidence to uncover his face but not enough to keep him from crossing his arms over his chest in a vain attempt at decency.

Harry kept his eyes on Draco's and tried hard not to smile. "Let's get out of here."

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"Easy," Draco hissed as Potter pushed a brush through his hair, the bristles scratching over the tender part of his scalp.

"Sorry."

"_Ouch_," the blonde said pointedly as Harry hit a snag. "If you give me split ends, Potter, I swear to god…"

"Sorry, sorry," Harry repeated, feeling like the clumsy and unrefined brute Draco always accused him of being.

"So what made you feel the need to come find me anyway?" Draco questioned, glancing over his shoulder at the raven. "Didn't you have anything better to do on Christmas Eve?"

"Not really," Harry shrugged, sheepish. "I, uh. I heard you joined Riddle's campaign and… kind of freaked out a little."

"You 'heard'…?" Draco repeated suspiciously, turning around and seeing Potter's guilty expression. "You idiot, you were keeping tabs on me!"

Harry huffed up in his defense. "I was worried!"

"Stalker," Draco accused, turning back around and gesturing for the raven to continue. "Besides, I didn't join the campaign. That was my father's idea of punishment."

Harry stilled his movements. "For being with me?"

_No_, Draco thought, _for being myself_. What he said was, "I'm gay."

"Oh," Harry stated dismissively.

Draco snatched the brush away from him with narrowed eyes. "Don't hold back your surprise on my account, Potter."

Feeling playful, Harry just shrugged. "Well, you did kind of maul me back there."

Draco allowed himself to gape for just a second. "I did not," he denied, pushing down his embarrassment and forcing himself not to blush. Potter was never going to let him live this down, was he?

Harry was outright grinning now. "Really? 'Cause I could've sworn that was you, luring me into your bath and-"

"Say it, Potter," Draco warned. "You say it and I swear you'll lose that tongue ring of yours in a very painful way."

The raven laughed, circling his arms around the blonde's indignant figure and giving him a long squeeze before standing up.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked, all anger suddenly gone.

"I gotta make some calls," Harry told him, turning off the blonde's desk lamp before planting a kiss on the boy's head. "Get some sleep."

Draco watched as Potter grabbed a cell he'd never seen the boy with before off of the coffee table and walked into the bathroom. He waited until the door shut before getting out of bed and moving closer. Who did Potter need to call that required privacy?

"Hey, Sirius. You guys have any luck?" There was a long pause. "Well, maybe it wasn't him."

"Something came up. I'm staying at school tonight," the raven said through the bathroom door. "No, I'll explain later." Another pause, this one much shorter. "Yeah, I'll see you guys tomorrow. Bye."

Draco didn't even think about going back to bed; Potter had, after all, used the word 'calls', plural.

Inside the bathroom, Harry looked at the three missed calls he had and selected the only number programmed into his contact list. It only rang once before Zach picked up.

"_I thought I told you not to open your present until tomorrow_?"

"I got antsy," Harry justified. "Besides, why'd you keep calling it if you didn't want me to open it?"

"_Because I knew you'd get antsy and open it regardless_." Zach explained on the other line. "_You don't like it_."

"I like it," Harry assured. "I just… You didn't have to get me anything."

"_I have an ulterior motive, don't worry,"_ Zach told him._ "This way I can know what you're up to at any given time of the day with the added benefit of phone sex."_

"I don't know whether that's funny or just disturbing," Harry grinned. "So what are you doing?"

Zach answered immediately. _"Masturbating."_

"Liar," Harry chuckled.

"_Spoilsport,"_ Zach countered. _"I'll give you three clues; it looks like candy, tastes like shit, and may or may not drain your spinal fluid."_

"I didn't know you did E," Harry said, a little unnerved. He'd tried Ecstasy exactly once, then felt like shit for several days afterward. "I guess that explains the talk about phone sex."

"_It makes my parents less intolerable to be around,"_ the junior defended. _"Phone sex, though, that's a wonderful idea."_

"Sorry, I'll have to give you a rain check on that," Harry said, smiling a little. "Just thought I'd call you back before I crashed."

"_You do sound exhausted,"_ Zach noted. _"Run down by all the holiday cheer?"_

Harry shook his head even though he knew Zach couldn't see it. "Bad day in general."

"_Oh? Christmas with your godfather not all it's cracked up to be?"_

"I wouldn't know," Harry told him, his voice pointedly not bitter. "He and Remus went to look for Peter. I'm still at Hogwarts."

"_You're spending Christmas Eve alone in an empty school? Jesus, Harry, I offered to take you home with me. Stop being stubborn and drive up here. My parents will hate you; it'll be great."_

Harry gave the phone a weird look. "Um, that's okay. Anyway, I'm not alone. Due to unforeseen circumstances that I really don't want to get into at the moment, Draco's staying the night in the dorm, too."

"… _So you're spending Christmas Eve alone with Draco in an empty school_."

Harry's brow wrinkled. "What's with the tone?"

"_Ugh,"_ Zach explained helpfully.

"Look, I'll talk to you later. And drink some water before you pass out."

"_I'm not a novice, Harry."_

"Bye, Zach."

After he took out his contacts and exited the bathroom, he found Draco waiting by the door.

"You're still awake," Harry observed.

Draco looked up at him like he was considering something, looking away and looking back before taking a quick step forward to brush his lips against Harry's cheek. It was without a doubt the sweetest kiss Harry had ever received.

Harry reached out for Draco's uninjured hand to keep him close, his mind fighting against the memory of water. "What was that for?"

Draco took a minute to decide, distracted by Potter's thumb brushing his wrist. "For bringing me home," he settled on, sounding like a question or an excuse instead of an actual answer.

"Anytime," Harry told him softly, bringing the boy's hand up to his face to return the kiss right above Draco's knuckles before letting go. He went to shut off the rest of the lights, checking to make sure the door was locked. Draco was back in bed before he finished. "Night," he told the other boy as he shut the curtains, whispering since Draco seemed minutes from dreaming.

Draco stopped him before he was two steps toward his own bed.

"Um," Harry pronounced, looking down at the pale hand on his forearm.

"Could you stay?" Draco asked him, his usually fierce pride absent in the request and replaced with an almost shy tone of voice.

"Yeah," the raven answered, fighting to keep his tone normal. "Yeah. I'll stay. If you want."

Draco let go of his arm and moved over. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Harry claimed as he got settled in.

Contrary to his words, the raven kept to his side of the bed, and it was so out of character for him to keep out of Draco's personal space that the blonde worried it was brought on by what happened in the Perfect's bathroom. But Potter hadn't acted uncomfortable around him once afterward, so he turned over and made himself stop jumping to conclusions.

"Scented candles," Draco whispered a while later even though he knew Potter was probably asleep, eyes closed himself and almost dreaming.

It took a moment, but eventually Harry responded with a sleepy, "Hm?"

The blonde cleared his throat and forced his eyes halfway open. "Vanilla scented candles," he reiterated. "Sometimes burn them when I take a bath."

There was silence for a long moment before the mattress shifted and Draco found himself pulled back into the raven's chest. Draco tugged the arm tighter around his waist, taking solace in the fact that Riddle was wrong. And even if he wasn't, Draco found he no longer cared. Actual emotions or feelings brought on by hormones, it didn't matter anymore. Because with Potter's arms around him, he had a suspicion of what this feeling was. Maybe he honestly was in lust with the raven, but he had the feeling he was in something else as well.

**::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

**Author's Note:**

"I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Claus" by Standstill. Funny stuff.

Okay, so I came _this close_ to dropping this chapter completely. It didn't turn out how I thought it would, the Riddle/Draco interaction creeped me out a lot, and it generally steered away from the main plot in a way that I'm trying to avoid. There were some key points that I couldn't really get rid of and couldn't fit in anywhere else, though, so in the end I couldn't trash it. I had to revise it a lot though.

Anyway, here it is. If this chapter freaked you out as much as it did me, I am genuinely sorry.

Tell me what you think.


	24. Burn After Reading

**Rating:** Mature.

**Warning:** Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness. Drug-use.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or the songs mentioned in this chapter.

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**Previously:**

Harry became suspicious when he found out about Draco's involvement with the Riddle campaign and enlisted the help of Seamus and Dean to sabotage its Christmas fundraiser. Tom Riddle made his intentions with Draco very clear by way of sexual harassment. Draco's resulting freak-out landed him and Harry both in the Perfect's bathtub, where another ensuing and embarrassing freak-out was avoided thanks to Harry's apparent understanding. Draco reevaluated his feelings for Harry and came to a much bigger conclusion.

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**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

**Burn After Reading**

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January third was a day that had Draco feeling oddly invincible on his drive back to school. It was the start of a new year, the time to turn over a new leaf, so to speak. Put his best foot forward, etc. Whatever that's supposed to mean. It was time to get what he wanted.

Therein lays the difference between then and now. Draco didn't know what he wanted before, and so he had no way of getting it. But now? Now he knew exactly what he wanted and a little square of notebook paper telling him exactly how to get it.

In lieu of Riddle's so-called Christmas party and the disaster that had transpired following it, Draco had almost forgotten about the list Seamus had given him to take home, a list of steps on a folded-up piece of notebook paper with the words BURN AFTER READING Sharpied on the front. The ink had bled through, so it was difficult to read, but after getting the gist of it Draco found himself wondering if Seamus' knowledge of boyfriend-stealing came from practical experience.

So it was with a new lease on life that Draco returned to Hogwarts, parking his father's 1956 Jaguar Roadster in the space right beside an all too familiar motorcycle. The classic convertible was part of Lucius' extensive collection. A sound investment, as his father put it, and it became more and more valuable every day it sat untouched. It had taken a considerable amount of cunning to get Lucius to let him take it to school.

"_Why the sudden interest?" Lucius asked the second Draco breeched the subject, eyes suspicious. "You don't even like driving. You think it's pedestrian."_

_Because it was pedestrian. Sure, it was new and exciting at first, but once the novelty wore off it had started to feel like a chore. And Draco didn't do chores._

"_Weasley has a car," Draco mentioned offhandedly._

_His father paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, and Draco had to fight a victorious smirk._

His relationship with his father had reached an odd state. So long as he didn't mention Harry and rock the metaphorical and precariously-balanced boat, things weren't so different than they usually were. After coming home the day after the fundraiser with only a vague explanation as to why he'd disappeared in the first place -Lucius ranting in between outraged calls from discontent campaign contributors- with the miracle of concealer masking the otherwise obvious bruises decorating his skin, they mostly tried to ignore whatever tension was going on between them.

His mother wasn't so keen on turning a blind eye.

The days in between the Christmas party and the second Draco had left to go back to Hogwarts, Narcissa had been on him like white on rice. Like ugly on a Weasley. She'd been very concerned about the bruises on his jaw, on his hand, especially on his collar. She was the only one who could see through the makeup. Meaningfully, she asked him if he needed her to make a phone call to "have this matter taken care of."

Let it be known, Draco loved his mother.

But Draco wasn't going to talk about Riddle or anything that happened between them. That whole debacle was inside of a box in the back of his mind, dead bolted and never to see the light of another day. In the end, he made up some bullshit story about a fight at school, told her he was handling it, and let her come to her own conclusions about the hickey. Placated, Narcissa had sighed in relief and said to be careful, for heaven's sake.

But that was far from the end of it. His mother was an insistent creature. She a woman who got what she wanted, and what she wanted was to know about Potter. He been able to hold out for all of two days then told her that if everything went as planned, she would be force-feeding him relationship advice in no time. Her response? She asked what he planned on wearing to school.

Someone wolf-whistle from behind him, breaking him out of his thoughts. He didn't have to turn to know it was Seamus. "What is _that_?"

Draco couldn't help the smug smile that pulled at his lips. "That, my less fortunate co-inhabitant, is step number one."

_Step number one: Get his attention_. This was child's play for someone such as Draco Malfoy. Getting attention, after all, was what he _did_. And he was good at it. Catching Potter's attention would be cake, Draco was confident. Keeping it, on the other hand, might prove to be a bit more difficult.

"And the hat? That's not step number one, is it?" Seamus asked, his voice cautious with apprehension even as he stared worshipfully over his shoulder at the shiny black convertible.

Draco threw him an insulted look, but didn't stop walking. "What's wrong with my hat? It's Versace."

"It looks kind of like your hair caught a squirrel," Seamus said, biting his bottom lip to repress a grin. Before Draco could protest, he continued, his voice conspirational as they made their way through the entrance building and into the dorm's hallway. "Look, Draco, Harry's not going to be impressed by your fashion sense, no matter how season appropriate."

The assumption that his new wardrobe's only function was a misguided attempt at impressing Potter was almost enough to make him rethink every new item of clothing he'd brought with him. He stopped right in the middle of the bustling hallway. He could admit that the rabbit fur scarf had been thrown across his shoulders with the image of Zach Smith's vegan-outrage in mind, but he never had the intention of dressing up for Potter.

"Nice move going with a lot red, though. I'm pretty sure that's his favorite color."

Oh, God, he _was_.

"Where are you going?" Seamus called as he started back the way he came.

Draco pulled his hat off and frisbeed it to Seamus. "I'm hungry," he said simply before walking out.

The cafeteria was, in a word, bustling. It was the last place he wanted to be, but Draco was willing to endure the crowded lines and the blare of general chatter if it meant postponing unpacking his bags full of red fabric and subconscious intent. Besides, he'd skipped breakfast.

It got worse when he realized his usual table was filled to the brim with insolent freshmen who obviously needed a lesson on how not to provoke a Malfoy. He was about two seconds away from stomping over and delivering one when he noticed Blaise sitting by himself at a table no more than half full. Weighing his options, Draco decided to let the infiltrating little bastards have this one.

"You missed one hell of a New Years party," Blaise informed him the minute he sat down. He was the only one of their roommates present, surprisingly, and Draco wondered briefly where everyone was. "Well, up until Rita Skeeter showed up, anyway."

That was enough to pique Draco's curiosity, not to mention disgust. "What was she doing there?" Rita Skeeter, the vulture, usually only showed her face where there was a story to rip apart before spewing it half-digested unto the gossipmongers.

"Caught wind of the guest list, I guess," Blaise shrugged. Draco had to ask what that was supposed to mean before he'd explain any further. And when he did, Draco eyes could've set him on fire.

"You invited Harry?" Draco felt the ridiculous urge to stomp his foot.

There was a smirk edging the corner of Blaise's mouth. "Harry, huh? About time."

That was one of Seamus' rules; '_Stop calling him Potter already!'_ It took a lot of practice and felt sort of like he was talking about a different person, but Draco was determined.

"You are an asshole," he told the boy across from him emphatically.

Blaise remained unrepentant. "I seem to recall telling you I was inviting everyone."

"Thin ice, Zabini," Draco warned. "You're about to become the mysterious smell by the lake."

Blaise held up his hands in surrender. "He was only there long enough to charm the pants off my mother, anyway. _Not_ literally," he added when Draco's eyes took on a suspicious -if not completely paranoid- gleam. "Skeeter scared him off pretty quick."

That in itself was unsurprising. Anyone who'd ever been subject to Rita Skeeter's "interviewing" techniques would rather sacrifice their dignity and run than have to answer any of the woman's intrusive questions.

Blaise spoke up again, placating. "If it makes you feel better, he kept asking about you."

It _did_ make him feel better, was the thing. And Draco smiled to himself at how needy and pathetic that was. How _gone_ he was. Looking up, he saw Blaise smiling back at him, soft and surprisingly genuine.

"I'm still mad at you," Draco informed him, not wanting the other boy to confuse temporary camaraderie with forgiveness. He didn't want to make this into a "moment" or anything. Blaise, the fucker, seemed amused by this.

"That's too bad, seeing as I have some information I think you'd be interested in concerning the whereabouts of one Harry Potter," Blaise informed with a lawyer's dickishness. He gave a glib shrug. "But since you're still mad at me…"

Draco raised an unimpressed eyebrow, but conceded. "If you think you can carry my bags to the dorms without damaging the merchandise, you're forgiven."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "He's in the gym. Professor Lupin's TA's doing that sports club thing and its basketball today, so he's almost guaranteed to be sweaty and shirtless by the time you get there." He mock-toasted Draco with his Snapple. "Lucky you."

Draco left the remainder of his lunch on the table for Blaise to dispose of.

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The gymnasium was empty aside from the sports club's basketball practice and the handful of girls watching from the bleachers. Draco opted for a wallflower position by the entrance to stand back and wonder just what deity was gracious enough to put Potter on the skins team instead of the shirts.

He knew the very moment Potter noticed he was in the room, because a second later, the basketball hit him square in the face for not paying attention. It was Draco's laughter that made the rest of the club notice his presence.

"I should make you leave for being such a hazardous distraction," Oliver Wood told him, coming over to lean on the wall next to the blonde and watching as Harry threw the ball back at Ron in way that would've been a penalty had it been a real game.

Draco gave his profile a sidelong glance. "Why aren't you?"

"We're one man short," Wood shrugged.

At the implied invitation, Draco turned to face the man fully. He didn't say anything, but his expression said a lot about his opinion of sports. And sweat. And teamwork.

Wood shrugged again. "Or you can just sit on the bleachers with the rest of the girlfriends," he offered congenially, hiding a smirk. "Up to you."

"Try again, club boy. I'm not that easy," Draco said, recognizing the manipulation for what it was. Wood just smiled. "What's a wannabe lit professor doing coaching a high school sports club, anyway? Shouldn't you be doing something book related?"

"Old habits die hard, I guess," Wood replied. "I was riding a football scholarship before this. Lost it freshman year when a three-hundred-pound linebacker crushed my radius. Long story short, now I'm here."

"Sounds like a movie-of-the-week," Draco noted before he could think better of it. Wood blinked at him in surprise. "Um."

But Wood was laughing. "Better than your movie. What, lonely rich kid wins the heart of troubled teenaged outsider? Angst, angst, the end? Sound about right?"

The without a doubt witty and original response Draco was about to deliver was interrupted when a pair of sweaty boy arms caught him around the waist. Then he was being lifted, squeezed and spun, and he couldn't have stopped the radiant smile that lit up his face if he wanted to.

"Nice to see you, too, Harry," Draco said once he was stationary again. By that time, Wood was already back on the court.

Harry's smile wavered a little with confusion. "Did you just call me-"

"Harry!" shouted an impatient Ron from the basketball court, arms held out in askance. "The game?"

Harry waved the redhead off, despite his indignant huffing. "I, uh," the raven began awkwardly, running a hand through his sweaty hair and making it stand straight up. "I didn't know you were into sports."

Remembering what Seamus' wrote about eye-contact, Draco held onto green eyes as he made his way toward the court and gave the other boy a trademark smirk. "I guess there's a lot you don't know about me, isn't there?"

**::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

"You are amazing," Harry gushed as he entered the locker room, Ron trudging along behind him in a petulant sulk. "Seriously, why aren't you on the basketball team?"

Draco looked equal parts pleased and smug as he pulled his undershirt over his freshly-showered head. "I'm not exactly what you'd call a team player."

"As evident by his five fouls in as many minutes," Ron scoffed with an eye-roll aimed at the floor. He was very indignant about the whole thing.

"Somebody's a sore loser," Draco taunted, earning a glare from the redhead.

"I mean aside from all the cheating, that was really great," Harry praised, beaming as he leaned on the sink facing Draco. With a disbelieving squawk toward the ceiling, Ron threw his hands in the air before storming off to the showers.

And then they were alone and Potter was just staring at him and Draco couldn't button his shirt properly because Potter was _just_ _staring at him_.

"You got a haircut," the raven said after a stretch of silence, closer than the blonde remembered him being. Draco watched through the mirror as Potter brushed a blonde lock behind his ear, and controlling the speed of his breathing was suddenly an obstacle.

Draco searched the other boy face. "You don't like it," he guessed more than decided. Harry immediately backpedaled.

"No-! I mean, yeah, I like it," he assured. There was a semi-awkward silence where he tried to find the right words and Draco tried to finish getting dressed. "I liked it before, too," the raven settled for with a shrug, backing away to return to his task of getting dressed.

He meant when it was an inch and a half longer. The way it was before he got it cut, because he looked enough like his father as it was –he didn't need the man's hair- and he wanted Potter to notice. Except he didn't know Potter liked it long.

"But it's not just that," Harry said suddenly, interrupting Draco's self-incriminating train of thought and catching his eyes. His expression was searching. "There's something different about you."

Uncomfortable with being so closely examined by the raven and feeling the ridiculous urge to blush for absolutely no reason at all, Draco chuckled in an attempt to seem casual. It felt like lying. "Good different or bad different?"

Harry laughed at the blonde's vanity, abandoning his tie to hook his chin over the blonde's shoulder and tug gently on a lock of blonde hair. "You look good."

"Thank you," Draco said, because Potter liked manners. _Harry_ liked manners.

Except Harry wasn't used to Draco using them without gratuitous sarcasm and was now giving him a weird look through the mirror. "You're welcome?"

Even though he was resolutely not looking at their reflection, Draco could feel Potter's radioactive green eyes piercing into him, examining him and searching his face for something Draco knew –just knew- he was going to find. It was too much at once. It was terrifying.

Pushing the raven off of him perhaps a little more forcefully than was strictly necessary, borderline-desperate, Draco focused hard on trying to look like nothing was wrong as he pulled his jacket on.

"Draco," Harry said, waiting patiently for the blonde to look at him before continuing. He hooked a finger in one of Draco's belt loops and pulled until Draco was standing right in front of him. "What's wrong?"

Earnest eyes, genuinely caring whether or not Draco really was okay, as if making Draco happy was his sole mission in life. The ability to lie suddenly abandoned him.

Draco shook his head and reached for Potter's askew tie. "You're hopeless," he sighed, allowing a fond smile to grace his features. It seemed to do the trick, as the raven relaxed as soon as he saw it.

"I thought you might've been mad at me," Harry confessed, and his expression said that he'd been worried about it. "I mean… you left without saying anything…"

Draco remembered well. It was six-fifteen in the morning and his cell was blaring with missed calls from his mother and one from his father that even without hearing it seemed to threaten his very existence. Potter was snoring softly into his neck, and it was all Draco could do not to either run or simply go back to sleep.

"I might've been a little embarrassed," Draco admitted quietly, unable to meet Potter's eyes and so not used to this honesty thing. Embarrassed was an understatement; he'd been terrified. When he finally risked a glance at Harry, the sun paled in comparison to the brightness of Potter's smile.

"God, I missed you," the raven told him, dropping his forehead to meet Draco's.

"Careful, Harry," the blonde teased, giving the raven's tie one final tug before letting it slip through his fingers. "Your boyfriend might catch wise."

The look Potter gave him wasn't pleased, but at least the word 'boyfriend' didn't make him freak out like last time.

"I don't have a boyfriend," the raven corrected, like it was something he was tired of repeating.

"Uh-huh," Draco voiced doubtfully. "And is Smith aware of this?" And like it was choreographed, Potter's phone started buzzing from somewhere inside his uniform, making the boy start and curse softly. He didn't answer it.

"Tell your boyfriend you're on your way already," Draco told him, grabbing his bag and swirling out of the room with an exit that would've made Snape proud.

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Draco was thrilled to find their usual table marvelously freshman-free. It made him a little suspicious, though, to see that Smith wasn't there waiting for Harry's arrival like he'd been anticipating. But Potter was trying in vain to initiate a game of footsie underneath the table and Draco soon forgot all about the mutant.

Around ten minutes into lunch, Seamus –who'd been giving him prying looks as soon as he's sat down- sprang up from his seat and announced that he and Draco had to use the bathroom.

Draco sighed, but nevertheless put down his fork and stood from the table. "We really have to work on your subtly."

Ron was looking between them in suspicion. "What's going on?"

"Seamus has developed the ability to sense when someone else has to pee," Dean deadpanned, looking entirely unconcerned. Being surrounded by the Irishman's antics on a daily basis, though, the only two options for survival were acceptance or insanity. Acceptance took less effort.

Harry raised his hand. "I also have to go to the bathroom."

"No, you don't," Draco told him firmly, putting the raven's hand down for him. "And if any of you follow us, I'll make it my sole mission in life to completely dismantle yours."

It wasn't Draco's best attempt at being threatening, but he made up for it with a follow-up glare that gave a glimpse of just how adept and willing he'd be at destroying them if they disobeyed. Only when they turned back to their meals did Draco see it fit to leave.

"You know, part of keeping a secret is not letting everyone within hearing range know you have one," Draco informed as disparaging as humanly possible the second they got to the hallway.

Crossing his arms, Seamus somehow managed to look sheepish and defensive all at once. "You're not exactly keeping your end of the bargain, either, you know."

"What bargain? I thought this was you helping out a friend from the goodness of your heart," Draco scoffed.

"Well, it wasn't. My services aren't free; I demand details in recompense," Seamus told him. There was a grin hiding somewhere behind his demanding expression. "Besides, I have eyes all over this school, and my sources have reported seeing you and a certain someone getting awfully cozy in the locker room earlier."

"About that," the blonde said, picking an invisible piece of lint from his jacket, "tell Longbottom if I catch him watching me getting dressed again, I'll have Snape put hydrochloric acid in his eye drops."

Seamus' brow wrinkled in bemusement. "Wouldn't the acid melt through the plastic of an eyedropper, though?"

So done with this conversation, Draco turned to leave. "This is why you're failing Chemistry."

"Draco," Seamus whined. He'd probably be stomping his foot if he wasn't trying to catch up with the unyielding boy ahead of him.

Draco sighed, but relented. "Mild to moderate progress."

"That's it? Damn it, my sources exaggerated," the Irishman said, both offended and disappointed at the false information. The way Neville explained it, blushing and uncomfortable, what happened in the locker room should've been on soft-core cable. "We've got to step your game up a little. Something that'll catch his eye. I'll work on it and get back to-"

Seamus was going to continue, but was halted when Draco's arm shot up to halt the trek to their table. There, sitting in the seat Draco had just vacated as though he'd stolen a throne, was Zacharias Smith. Draco stood behind him stiffly and waited for acknowledgement. It didn't take long.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Zach smirked, tone pleasant. His expression was equal parts smug and challenging, making it clear that he wasn't planning on going anywhere anytime soon. "Was this your seat?"

"Zach," Harry said, speaking through clenched teeth. His voice was heavy with resignation. "Knock it off."

As infuriating as the situation was, Harry's aggravated tone made Draco realize something important, something phenomenal. After months of playing a character he'd conjured up to make the raven believe he was someone else, someone even remotely tolerable, Zach had dropped the innocent act. Draco's mind drifted back to the phone conversation Harry'd had with the junior in the dorm's bathroom the night of the Christmas party. Just how threatened was Smith feeling exactly? Enough to make him lose character, apparently.

And on top of that marvelous turn in luck, Draco's plan required him to be supportive of Harry and the mutant's dysfunctional excuse for a relationship. It was step number two. It was the light at the end of a particularly frustrating tunnel. It was perfect.

"It's not a problem," Draco told them, disrupting the argument that was brewing between the two. Six gaping faces staring at him in shock at the lack of bloodshed, he calmly reached over Smith's shoulder to take his tray. "After all, what kind of a friend would I be if I didn't let the two of you lovebirds sit together, hm?"

The smirk Smith had been wearing vanished instantaneously, and in that second, he knew. Draco knew that he knew, saw the revelation as it crossed the junior's features and had to stop the maniacal laugher that suddenly wanted to burst from him because after all the shit this little bastard tried to hold over his head, the only thing he succeeded in doing was making Draco realize what he wanted and blowing his own chances in the process. He was a Malfoy, and it was about time skankzilla here recognized what that entailed.

Zach opened his mouth to speak, closed it, licked his lips and started over. "That's very… atypical of you."

"Don't mention it," Draco smiled, feeling at the top of the world as he walked away. Victory felt good –no, better than good. It was fan-fucking-tastic, is what it was. Coming back to Hogwarts senior year had felt like a trip to the guillotine back in September. He'd been miserable and depressed, knowing where his life was headed and hating himself for not having the courage to do something about it, sick of the plastic friends he'd collected and determined to be lonely with too much pride to admit that anything needed changing.

And then Potter happened, sneaking into his life and stripping him of his masks while Draco was preoccupied stripping Potter of his own. This jaded creature who was at the same time simple and extraordinary came into his life when he'd fallen into the million broken pieces that was his life and made him realize just how insignificant all those broken pieces were. For the first time in a long time, Draco felt as if the pressure that had been weighing him down more and more over the last couple of years had never been there in the first place.

So lost in his thoughts, he didn't realize who he'd sat next to until they started nudging him.

"Don't look now, but you're being watched," Oliver Wood said quirtly, motioning vaguely in Harry's direction. Why he was sitting with the students instead of his fellow faculty members was beyond Draco.

He looked just in time to see Potter look away.

"He's been doing that since you sat down," Oliver told him, and a moment later he started counting down on his fingers. "Three, two…"

And sure enough, Draco could see Potter staring in their direction through his peripheral. But not at him.

"He was looking at you," the blonde objected.

"That's because I'm practically whispering in your ear right now," Wood explained. "Now laugh like I just said something funny."

'_Make him jealous'_ wasn't until step five, but really- what was the harm in speeding things up a little? Draco leaned more into the TA's space and faked a laugh.

"Good," Oliver praised. "Now really don't look because he's glaring at me like I just stole his car."

"He drives a motorcycle," Draco corrected.

"Of course he does," Wood stated, giving the blonde beside him a swooning look and batting his eyelashes ridiculously. "Dreamy."

"That's not why I… like him," Draco protested, annoyed that that was what everyone would think if they knew. That he was only interested in Potter because of the boy's completely misleading image. "There's more to him than the walking cliché that harpy Rita Skeeter is making him out to be. He has hidden depths."

Hidden depths? What the hell? Wincing, Draco had the near irresistible urge to facepalm.

Oliver shoulders were shaking with near silent laughter. "He does, does he? And to think, all this time I thought it was the glowing eyes and bed-head."

"Shut up," Draco ordered. It only made him laugh again. "You know you're just helping me with that whole make-him-jealous crap, right?"

Laughter dying down, Oliver shook his head as if to clear it. A smile was still on his face when he looked at Draco and shrugged. "Sucks for me."

Draco had absolutely no clue what to say to that, so maybe he was lucky when the argument from a few seats down grew loud enough to distract them both.

"Paranoid? Ever since Christmas it's like you're stuck on planet Malfoy. It's like you can't even hear me."

"I am hearing you, Zach, but just because someone's nice to you doesn't mean they're plotting something."

"You know what? Fuck you," the junior told him, standing up and grabbing his things in a way that was deceptively calm. "Give me a call when you come back to Earth, okay?"

Smith's dramatic exit was nowhere near as dramatic as it would've been had the bell not rung as soon as the boy stood from his seat. Potter didn't try to stop him.

"And the plot thickens," Oliver joked, leaning close to Draco's ear as he stood. The blonde looked up in time to see the TA give him a parting smile, and when he looked back to Potter, the raven's eyes were now fixed on Oliver's retreating back.

Draco wasn't exactly waiting for him, but upon hearing his name, he slowed down enough for Potter to catch up. They were just outside the main building and the first thing he did was gesture behind him. "What was all that about?"

Draco gave him a vacant look. "What do you mean?"

And all of a sudden, Harry looked like he didn't care one way or the other. Hands shoved deep into his pockets in what Draco assumed was an attempt at casual, the raven was looking alternatively straight ahead and at his shoes. "You and Oliver? Is that the big secret you don't want anyone knowing about?"

Harry wasn't smiling at all, and the way he said the word 'secret' implied that it wasn't much of one. It was such a change from earlier that it was starting to make Draco uneasy. The raven's tone was mean in a way Draco had never heard it, and if this was how Potter acted when he was jealous, Draco wasn't sure he wanted to play that angle anymore. Still, he wanted to know.

"Why do you care?" Draco asked with a forced smirk, which was the wrong thing to say apparently, because Potter stopped walking entirely to step in front of the blonde and give him a slow look that Draco didn't know how to interpret.

"Why are you answering questions with questions?" the raven asked, his tone clipped and impatient, eyes serious and accusing.

And then Potter's phone was buzzing. Yet again. Looking like he'd much rather be throwing it, the raven dug it out from his pocket and flipped it open, stared at the screen for all of two seconds before snapping it shut again. Then he was just looking out toward the lake as if Draco wasn't even there.

Draco waited until it became apparent that Potter wasn't talking to him before walking away. He never should've tried this jealousy thing in the first place. He thought it would be more fun than this, but with Potter acting as though Draco was cheating on him, it so wasn't. And how hypocritical was that? Draco couldn't so much as call Zach a name without getting reprimanding looks, but the second Draco shows even the slightest –and in this case, completely fake- interest in another guy, Potter wants to start giving him the third degree?

Harry was at his side a second later with an apology at the ready. "Draco-"

"What?" Draco snapped, because forgiving Potter was way too easy and he didn't want to cave just yet. But then he made the mistake of actually looking at the guy.

"I'm sorry. It's just…"

"Zach," Draco supplied, even though it felt kind of like he was giving Potter an excuse. Even though he was pretty sure Zach had almost nothing to do with it.

Running a hand through his wayward hair, Harry huffed a sigh. "You heard that?"

"I think rock climbers on Mount Fuji heard it," Draco deadpanned. He relented a second later once he realized what an opportune moment this was to get started on step number three; '_Be his confidant_.' "So what's the problem?"

"He thinks you're up to something," Harry divulged, his tone giving away how ridiculous he thought it was to think such a thing. Bless him.

"Paranoid," Draco smirked, and really, Zach had every right to be. The junior knew exactly what he was up to, but his own overconfidence led him to give up his only leverage. And now? He had nothing to hold over Draco's head anymore and every time the mutant chose to put him down, he'd only succeed in pushing Harry further away and closer to Draco.

So immersed in smug thoughts of sweet, sweet revenge, Draco almost missed the vexed look that Harry shot him, and it made him remember a very important part of Seamus' plan._ 'If you followed step two correctly, Zach will already be badmouthing you to Harry. Don't make the same mistake. You want Harry rising to your defense, not Zach's.'_ "I mean… I was just trying to be nice."

Harry dropped his eyes with a resigned sigh. "That's what I said." Then he gave Draco a look somewhere between curiosity and suspicion. "What's with that anyway? I thought you hated Zach."

"I do," Draco admitted, "but if you like him he can't be all bad, right?"

"He's really not," Harry told him. If he was trying to reaffirm this to Draco or himself, Draco wasn't sure. "Lately, though, he's been a completely different person. It's like I hit his crazy button every time I mention you."

Oh, but Harry was making this way too easy. This was a prime moment to introduce step number four. _'Flirt as if your life depends on it. And be direct about it, or the meathead won't notice a thing.'_

"Well, can you blame him? I mean, look at us," he smirked, bumping their shoulders. "We'd make Brangelina look like the Cleavers'."

And like magic, they were suddenly attached at the hip, Potter's arm draped over his shoulders and pulling him closer. "We so would," the raven agreed, laughing.

Much too soon, they were at the dorms and Potter was dropping his arm to open the door for him. If the raven was paying attention at all, he'd notice that Draco didn't object to it like he normally would. The dorm was empty, but Draco had already known it would be, having seen his roommates in the rec room when they'd passed.

"He asked me to dance once," Draco told him as he removed his jacket. "Oliver, I mean. It's nothing."

"He's into you," Harry said, attention diverted to the laptop sitting open on the coffee table, a post-it with his name on it with one line under it that read: _'You should see this'_. "That's not nothing. Not that it's any of my business, I guess, but… I don't know. He's a teacher. Don't you think that's kind of inappropriate?"

"Maybe I like inappropriate," the blonde purred, leaning over the back of the couch where Harry was sitting. The look he received was nothing short of quietly alarmed. "Oh, calm down! I'm kidding. And he's a TA, not a teacher. There is a difference."

"Still illegal," the raven mumbled, then even lower, "Still creepy."

Perching himself on the armrest, Draco crossed his arms and gave the raven a pitying sigh. "Just so you know –and I say this as a friend- I find your raging jealousy both flattering and pathetic."

"Jealous?" Harry scoffed in incredulity, reaching over to grab the now laughing blonde by his crisp uniform shirt and pull him off his impromptu pedestal. "Listen here, angel," the raven said once he had Draco captive, merciless fingers tickling up the blonde's ribcage. "Even if I was the jealous type –which I'm not- wanting to look out for a friend and being jealous of a pervy teacher isn't exactly the same thing."

"That's the second time you've called me that," Draco noted contently when he caught his breath, blissfully sprawled over Harry's lap with his legs daggling off the armrest of the sofa. One arm pillowed under his head, the other reached out to tug playfully on Harry's askew tie.

But apparently this was still too subtle, because a second later Potter was moving him aside and standing, leaving Draco lying on the couch, alone and frustrated. _'This is hopeless,'_ Draco moaned inside his head. Not for the first time, he got the feeling that Potter was doing it on purpose; pushing him away whenever he felt like they were crossing some imaginary line.

"That reminds me," Harry said, leaving and coming back with a wrapped box in his hand. "I forgot to give you this. I know you think Christmas is just a scam invented by retailers, but seeing as I kind of destroyed your other one… Well, here."

Raising a brow, Draco opened his present to find what Potter's explanation had him expecting; a camera. Digital SLR. Better than his old one, even.

"It's green," Draco mused, looking to the raven in askance. He would've expected red.

"Your favorite color, isn't it? Anyway, I know shit about cameras, but everybody said this one was the best out there, so…"

Without a second thought, Draco leaned forward and kissed him, then smirked at the raven's dumbfounded expression. "There might be hope for you yet."

Harry's expression was bewildered even as the blonde curled into his side and set about fiddling with all the buttons Harry didn't know how to use.

Yes, there was definitely something different about Draco. Nevertheless, he decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. A happy Draco, after all, was a rarity better left unquestioned. Pushing it out of mind, Harry reached for the forgotten laptop on the table in front of him.

A second later he wished he hadn't.

Feeling him tense, Draco looked up from his new gadget curiously. A glance at the headline of a TDP article on the screen made him want to curse.

Not again.

'_The Potter Family Tragedy: Arson or Accident?_

_New information has arisen on the fatal tragedy that ended  
__the life of Lily and James Potter, parents of media darling  
__Harry Potter. This information, however, seems to provide  
__more questions than answers._

_When contacted for an interview with Vernon and Petunia  
__Dursley, Potter's relatives and legal guardians, they  
__admitted having knowledge of the possibility of arson, but  
__neglected to tell their nephew for his own well-being.  
__Throughout this interview, they described Potter as  
__"__troublemaking" and "unappreciative."'_

Rolling his eyes at Potter's relatives in disgust, Draco turned to Potter. "I thought you didn't read this crap."

"I told Seamus to let me know if they write anything about the fire," Harry explained, eyes not leaving the screen.

"Why?"

The raven shot him a brief disbelieving look. "Wouldn't you want to know?"

The answer to that was an emphatic and resounding no, but Draco decided against voicing this. Potter, the martyr, wouldn't stop until he found the answers he was searching for, no matter what the process put him through. Telling him not to rock the boat, to let sleeping dogs lie, wouldn't do a thing to dissuade him.

Draco turned back to the screen.

'_It was Mr and Mrs Dursley who generously provided TDP  
__access to Potter's medical records, revealing little more than  
__a head injury that now-retired Dr Dilys Derwent, Potter's  
__attending at St Mungo's the night of the fire, described as  
__"__suspicious" and "unlikely considering the circumstances of  
__the injury." Dr Derwent also stated that Potter was forcefully  
__discharge from the hospital before his injuries could be  
__properly evaluated._

_This reporter also attempted to contact the first officer on the  
__scene of the accident, Merlin's very own Chief of Police, Tom  
__Riddle. Riddle was the first to find baby Potter, bleeding and  
__crying among the ashes, and it was his actions on that fateful  
__night that catapulted his career. The then-beat cop has yet  
__to provide a statement.'_

TDP provided a picture; a hero shot of a younger Riddle holding a baby. It was like a pair of bolt-cutters to that little locked box in the back of his head, and Draco remembered what Riddle said about owing Potter his career. Draco didn't believe in coincidences, but he prayed this was one. He didn't know what it would mean if it wasn't, but it sure as hell wouldn't be anything good.

A glance at Potter told him the raven's thoughts ran in the same direction as his, only faster and with a destination in mind. The raven's clenched jaw was made of granite as he stared at the picture of Riddle and himself, eyes dark and unforthcoming.

'_As for the cause of the fire, it remains undecided. A broken  
__light bulb found in the basement of the Potters' home was a  
__likely suspect for Merlin's fire and police departments, but  
__many arson investigators claim a light bulb being the ignition  
__source was next to impossible for a fire of that magnitude  
__unless the bulb was way over wattage requirements, which -  
__in this case- it wasn't._

_So what do they believe was the cause of the fire? They're  
__not sure, either. More than a few of the investigators we've  
__spoken to, however, seem to suspect foul play. They claim  
__the ignition site had appeared tampered with before their  
__inspection. They also claim the fire had to have had an  
__accelerant for it to have spread so quickly. _

_This theory was extinguished by the fire department, who  
__say the guest room of the Potters' home had been painted  
__that very day and the windows were open to let out any  
__lingering fumes, drawing the fire through the house to the  
__nearest oxygen source, e.g., the open windows upstairs._

_The Potter mystery is getting thicker and thicker. Was the  
__unfortunate deaths of Lily and James Potter and the  
__orphaning of baby Harry an act of fate, the product of ill  
__intentions, or simply bad timing? Stay tuned. We at TDP  
__are on the case.'_

There was really nothing to say. Knowing his parents had died in a house fire and knowing exactly how it happened weren't exactly the same thing. Being ignorant of the things you don't need to know -never wanted to know- was the only thing that granted a person peace of mind.

Which was why Draco was so baffled as to the reason Potter would want to know all the gory details. He didn't understand why the raven couldn't let it go. Spare himself the misery.

Potter was already pulling on his jacket and grabbing his keys.

"Harry-"

"I just need to clear my head," the raven said, effectively cutting off any sympathy or protest Draco wanted to give him. In apology, he dropped a kiss on Draco's temple on his way out the door. "I'll be back."

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**Author's Note:**

On the off chance anyone actually wants to know, most plastics actually can stand up against hydrochloric acid. All hail the magic of chemistry!

And now that that horrific moment of nerd is over, allow me take a moment to dedicate this chapter to the wonderful Miss **SaintFable**. Happy ridiculously belated birthday, babydoll. Your gift is on its way.


	25. Dead Ends

**Rating:** Mature.

**Warning:** Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness. Drug-use.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any songs mentioned in this chapter.

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**Previously:**

Back at school and under the surprisingly insightful guidance of Seamus, Draco resolved to put his new plan into action, which led to not-as-fun-as-it-should've-been jealousy, a delightfully suspicious Zach, and unexpected gift-giving. Oliver revealed certain feelings he'd been harboring for Draco and TDP revealed new information regarding the death of Harry's parents.

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**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

**Dead Ends**

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It was a busy night at the bar on the corner of Eighth Street and Railroad Avenue. The alcohol was flowing, the speakers were reverberating with the music coming from the stage -another struggling, talented band with a pseudo-creative, ironically long name and an affinity for acoustic rock- and the patrons were drinking and having a good time. Among these patrons, the only one in the bar not getting wasted was also the only one drinking espresso. For you see, this patron was a Malfoy, and a Malfoy always had a plan.

Long term, this plan involved winning the heart of a particularly frustrating boy with a jaded past and a hero complex. Short-term, well, he didn't want to spend the night getting slobbering drunk, making a fool of himself, and end up saying something he'd regret. Things involving spontaneous proclamations of undying love, for instance.

The target of his undying love didn't seem to have the same inhibitions, however, as he was currently on his second drink, chatting up a bartender and going for a third, which would undoubtedly be free of charge. Among his many talents, Harry made friends fast, which meant he almost never had to pay for drinks.

"Careful, Malfoy," Ron slurred in his vicinity. "Any more envy aimed in their direction could make them spontaneously combust."

"Ron," Hermione chided from beside him. It was one of the very few times she'd let herself be dragged along instead of staying cooped up in the girls' dorm, going over everything she already knew.

"What? It's not anything that everybody doesn't already know," the redhead proclaimed. "Except maybe Harry. Though I do have my subscriptions… prescriptions…" The redhead stared dizzily up at the ceiling, going a little cross-eyed in forced concentration. "Descriptions?"

Hermione's expression was a monument to a girlfriend's exasperation. "Suspicions?"

Ron snapped his fingers in her direction, but didn't look down from the ceiling. "Exactly."

"Okay," his better half gamely stated, "but you're being incredibly insensitive right now, so you can tell me all about your suspicions on the way back, alright? It's almost curfew, anyway."

"Aw, c'mon, it's Friday!" Ron complained before staring contemplatively in Draco's vague direction. "And Malfoy doesn't have feelings… He has evil. He's just- He's just chock full of evil. Every time you think the spiteful little bastard can't get any more evil…" He paused to clap his hands together before dropping them limping in his lap and staring at them as if he was trying to figure out where they came from. "Out pops some more evil."

By now, Seamus was laughing so hard he was practically crying into Dean's shoulder, which was also shaking with laughter. Draco seethed silenty.

"Sorry, Malfoy," Hermione said grudgingly, actually managing to make it sound genuine, before punching the still-laughing Seamus in the arm, ignoring his yelp. "Watch him while I get the car."

"It's Friday!" the weasel vainly protested again, for some reason yelling it at his shoes.

"It's no use," Seamus told him, clapping him on the shoulder in a show of sympathy. "That's what you get for picking a girlfriend who makes up algebraic equations for fun."

"Weasel," Draco said, watching the girl leave the bar and still glaring. "The reason I'm telling you this now is because I'm a man who believes in fair warning. However, I'm also a man who knows you won't remember anything I'm about to tell you, so that being said, two mornings from now, you're going to wake up with both of your hands super-glued to your face, _Home Alone_-style, courtesy of this spiteful little bastard."

Ron blinked at him a few times in quick succession, wide-eyed and leaning heavily on the back of the sofa. "Evil!"

That set Seamus and Dean off a second time, and Draco decided to check his voicemail. Trying to block out the sound of the band on stage and waiting for Harry to bring him his drink and _stop flirting with the bartender already, Jesus Christ_, he came upon a message from his father.

It was anything but short and sweet. Instead, it started with, _"I feel an immeasurable compulsion to remind you of who it is that pays for the phone you constantly refuse to answer,"_ and ended ominously with, _"It's high time I collected on that little deal we made over Thanksgiving."_

Knowing his father's distaste for it, Draco decided to text him. _'In library now. On silent,'_ he sent, which was bullshit because they both knew Hogwarts' library locks the doors at five on Fridays.

"Oh, now that's just not fair," Seamus groaned from the loveseat across from him as Hermione relieved him of his burden and started dragging Ron towards the front entrance. Draco looked up just in time to see none other than Theodore Nott being directed upstairs by one of the servers. "This is our _place_. Our sanctuary. What the hell is he doing here?"

"Nothing virtuous, that's for sure," Draco surmised from the shifty way Nott was looking over his shoulder.

"You know, he hasn't really messed with us since we got back to school, has he?" Dean commented thoughtfully. "No disparaging graffiti. No offensive comments. I haven't been shoved into anything even once this semester."

"And it just isn't Theo unless he's shoving you into something," Seamus mocked. It really was odd, now that Draco thought about it, but he pushed the matter to the back of his mind when his cell vibrated in his hand.

'_Dinner. Saturday. __Six o'cloc__k at Milos,' _it read, cutting to the chase_. 'Bring your friend.'_

"What's wrong?" Seamus questioned, seeing the blonde's discontent expression.

"My father," Draco told him, pocketing his cell. "He wants to meet me for dinner tomorrow… and said to bring Harry."

Seamus' eyes widened comically, and he turned to his boyfriend in askance, holding out a glass that was still half-full with whatever milky concoction the Irishman had ordered. "Dean? Baby, would you get me a refill?"

"I'm pretty sure I don't want to hear this anyway," Dean shrugged acceptingly, a definite swag in his stride as he wandered over toward the bar, draining the glass as he went.

Seamus waited until he was out of hearing distance to turn back to Draco and say, "Shit."

"Yeah," Draco agreed. "Think I have enough time to come down with something?"

"Just don't do anything drastic this time," Seamus told him thoughtfully. "And, who knows, maybe this is the universe's way of telling you it's time to come clean."

Draco rolled his eyes, but had to sigh. "I can't tell him face to face. Every time the opportunity arises, I panic and wind up spitting out something even more ridiculous," he explained, though it wasn't anything Seamus didn't already know. "It's the reason I started the whole paparazzi thing in the first place."

"And turned your life into a Lady Gaga song," Seamus concluded, sounding so irrationally envious that Draco had to laugh.

"_Promise I'll be kind_," the blonde sang, smiling widely, "_but I won't stop until that boy is mine_."

"Ye-ah," Harry broke in, kindly providing backup vocals as he returned with Draco's espresso. "I know you're not doing karaoke without me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Draco told him, smiling when Harry slid into place beside him on the couch, arm draping across the blonde's shoulders. Draco melted into his side like butter on hot toast, but had to hold back a sigh when Harry's phone rang and the boy sat up.

Draco was hating that phone more and more everyday. Silly as it was to detest an inanimate object, he'd caught himself daydreaming from time to time, plotting its downfall. An accidental toss into the lake. An unfortunate flattening as it was steamrolled by his father's car. Nine times out of ten, it was Smith calling the raven, and since the two had yet to fully make up from their last argument, every time they spoke left Harry looking a little worse for wear.

"Karaoke," Seamus enthused. "Now _that_ is something we've got to do."

"He did what?" Harry questioned in disbelief to whoever was on the phone with him, garnering Seamus and Draco's full attention. He ran a hand through his hair in a show of frustration. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. Call me back if you hear anything."

Draco arched an eyebrow in question, and Harry sighed. "Peter went to the band's rehearsal space last night," he told them, wilting back onto the loveseat, elbows on his knees. This was about the time Dean came back, cocking a questioning brow at Seamus, who shrugged back in response. "Everything's gone. He had his own cardkey, so management didn't know anything was up until this morning."

Seamus blinked widely. "But they called the police, right?"

Harry nodded once before lifting a shoulder in a shrug. "Not that it'll make any difference if they can't find him. They don't know what he's driving, or who he's with, or where he's staying. And even if they do find him, the band's equipment's gone by now anyway."

That was when a server, whose nametag mysteriously read Ashley even though it was a guy, approached their table, stooping to gather up their empty glasses. "Are you talking about Peter?"

"Yeah," Harry answered, standing to help load the tray the other boy was balancing. "You've seen him?"

"He usually comes in through the back and skitters upstairs about once a month," the server informed, nodding his head toward the door that led to the bathrooms and the staircase up to the second floor. "If he didn't look like such a tweaker, I'd think he was dealing."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "With who?"

"The manager," the other boy told him. "Dropped off the methadone bandwagon, if you know what I mean."

"Heroine?" Harry guessed.

"Meth," Jesse corrected, causing the raven's stomach to twist. "But I haven't seen Peter since New Years," he shrugged before turning to leave. "Sorry."

"You have such charming acquaintances, Harry," Draco scoffed, pulling at the hem of the raven's jacket to get him to sit down. Harry did, but where he was easy and comfortable before, now he was stiff and agitated.

Harry shook his head. "He doesn't know enough about drugs to be using them, trust me. If he was, he would've known they don't prescribe methadone to chicken heads." The raven's eyes locked onto the door that led upstairs. "I'll be right back."

"Harry," Draco stopped him, a warning note in his voice.

"Five minutes," Harry bargained, passing his half-empty glass to the blonde.

"Three," Draco told him, taking the raven's drink in acceptance. Nodding, eyes still on the door, Harry kissed his cheek before heading off.

Seamus seemed confused. "What's he going to do?"

Draco looked at his rapidly cooling espresso mournfully. This night was starting to look like it'd require alcohol. "Something stupid, I'm sure," he responded, draining Harry's abandoned glass.

Harry hadn't even taken the first step up the staircase before he heard the shouting, and he stopped to listen. It was the manager's voice, Harry recognized, and someone else. Just then, the door at the top of the stairs opened, screamo blaring out of the open doorway in stark contrast with the acoustic rock filtering in from onstage. A boy about Harry's age was pushed out roughly, losing his footing on the first step and rolling painfully down the stairs before catching himself a quarter of the way down, a grimace at the way his shoulder had slammed into the wall and stopped his momentum.

"You need to take your ass back to that fancy fucking prep school of yours and learn what one-eighth of an ounce is, Boy Scout," the manager shouted down at the boy. "Sending me a fucking kid…"

The door slammed shut, leaving Harry alone with whoever had been push down the stairs. He had a good look of the guy's face now and had to smother his shock at who it was. "Nott?" he questioned, climbing up the stairs to give the boy a hand. "What the fuck are you doing, man?"

"It's a boarding school!" Nott yelled out to the vacant doorway, wincing as he jostled his shoulder trying to stand.

Harry approached the boy with caution. Now that he was closer, he couldn't help but notice how blown Nott's pupils were, the twitchy way he was moving.

"_L'esprit d'escalier_," Nott muttered nonsensically, clutching his shoulder as Harry helped him stand. Grimacing, he staggered and braced himself on the wall for a moment to regain his balance.

Harry furrowed his brow in confusion. "What?"

"Spirit of the stairway, for those of us who are failing French," Nott scoffed, pushing the raven's hands off him now that he was able to walk on his own. As he started to make his way down the stairs and away from Harry, the raven spotted a baggie lying innocently on the step below him and stooped to pick it up.

"Rich kid pedaling meth on the weekends," Harry pondered before following Nott toward the restrooms. "Your dad cut you off or something?"

Yanking open the heavy door to the men's room, Nott appeared to be utterly finished with this conversation. Not looking back at the raven, he snorted. "Or something."

"Wait," Harry said, catching the door before it could swing shut. He held up the baggie for the other boy to see. "Who's your dealer?"

Eyes widening, Nott snatched for it, unaware that it had even left his pocket, but Harry moved it behind his back before he could grab it. "Well?"

"Your mother," Nott sneered. It was the wrong thing to say, apparently, because the next thing he knew, he was colliding with the brick wall by the sinks inside the men's room, crying out in pain as the light switch dug painfully into his already aching shoulder blade. Snarling, Harry had him by the throat with his forearm. "Shit, Potter!"

"Watch your mouth," Harry told him, voice eerily calm. He didn't notice the door swinging open again. "You can either tell me now or-"

"Or what? You'll _tell_ on me?" Nott mocked, his voice strangled as he struggled against Harry's hold on him. "I don't give a shit about being expelled, Potter. I'd fucking welcome it at this point."

"Well, that would certainly make two of us," a new voice commented lazily. It was Draco, locking the door before turning to the scene before him with his arms crossed, awaiting an explanation.

The two other boys' stared at him, but Harry's stubborn grip didn't relent in the slightest. "Draco."

"Don't 'Draco' me. Your three minutes are up," Draco told him, annoyed and ignoring the tone in Harry's voice that was telling him to leave. He looked at Nott. "Now why don't you tell him what he wants to know already? What, you haven't heard? The guy's a killer."

Harry looked incredulous. "You're not helping!"

Ignoring the raven's outburst, Draco arched a questioning brow at Nott, who only glared back in response. "No? Okay, so I guess I'll just have to upload that video a friend of yours showed me of what you did under the bleachers last year." Nott's eyes got wider and wider, but he still remained silent. Draco smirked. "At the track and field tournament? Bet you'd just hate for _that_ to show up on Youtube, wouldn't you?"

"How-?" Nott started to question the very moment Harry tried to say, "What are you-?"

"Your choice," Draco interrupted, shrugging and immovable.

Nott looked at Harry and nodded his cooperation, gasping when the pressure on his neck finally slacked. "His name is Peter," he told the raven, wheezing as he tried to get his breath back. "He's a cook. That's all I know."

After a moment of hesitation, Harry threw the baggie to Draco, the blonde catching it deftly before sending the raven a look of alarm and confusion once he realized what it was. Harry made a quick gesture toward the toilet, Draco nodding slightly in response. Nott looked as if he was going to protest as the blonde went to flush it, so Harry pushed him back into the wall.

"Where's he staying?" the raven questioned, watching the other boy closely as he fished his wallet out from his pants pocket.

"Are you deaf, Potter? I just said that's all I-" Harry pulled out a hundred dollar bill and folded it into Nott's hand, cutting him short. After a second's contemplation, Nott breathed out a frustrated sigh and took a moment to seethe at how low he had sunk to be taking orders from Harry fucking Potter for what he used to consider pocket change, then shoved the bill angrily into his coat pocket. "I met up with him once at some motel downtown. He was driving a crappy-looking grey van with a broken windshield."

"Give me your phone," Harry demanded, palm up expectantly. Confused, Nott looked to where Draco was now leaning against the sinks, as if asking whether or not Harry was about to do something stupid. Draco just shrugged.

Sighing again, Nott handed it over and watched as Harry scrolled through his contacts list. After a second or two, the raven was holding the cell to his ear, pressing his index finger against his lips as he listened to it ring.

"_What's up, man? I was just about to call you_. _How'd it go?"_

Harry squeezed his eyes shut in a wince at the sound of Peter's voice, confirming everything he'd already suspected.

"_Hello_?"

Harry snapped the phone shut. "He'll call back in a minute," the raven told Nott as he gave him his phone back. "Tell him you had bad reception and that everything's fine."

The other two in the room watched as Harry walked over to the nearest sink, turning on the faucet and splashing water onto his face. He looked as if he'd just run a marathon. Nott took this as his opportunity to leave, but paused after opening the door a crack.

"Draco," he said, looking at the blonde who was currently running a soothing hand up and down the length of the raven's hunched-over back, looking concerned.

Glancing up at the sound of his name, Draco considered him for a moment before telling the other boy, "Live in fear." Staring at the blonde for a second as if searching for something, Nott eventually gave up and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Draco turned back to Harry, trying to get the other boy to meet his eyes. "Hey."

"You shouldn't have done that," Harry told him crossly, drying his face jerkily with a paper towel before throwing it into the trash with far more aggression than strictly necessary.

Draco snorted, hand on his hip. "What, like you were doing any better?"

"I don't want you involved in this," Harry said before finally looking at him. "At all."

Admittedly, Draco was a little distracted by the way the raven's eyes had hit him, bright and intense in the fluorescent lighting. But still, he crossed his arms, sighing in a way that said the raven was just being stubborn. "Harry-"

"I'm being serious," Harry cut in emphatically, reaching out to put his hands on Draco's shoulders. "Draco, you have to promise me you'll stay away from this. Please, I can't…." He dropped his head and swallowed compulsively, the way people do when they're nauseous. "I couldn't handle it."

Arms dropping out of their defensive posture, Draco reached up to trace Harry's cheekbone with his thumb, his other hand hooking itself on the raven's collar to bring him closer. "Handle what?"

Harry closed his eyes, dropping his head to Draco's and shaking his head. "If… _anything_ happens to you… I…"

"Hey," Draco protested gently, practically whispering. He pressed his lips against the raven's temple, the bridge of his nose, fingers getting lost in the other boy's dark, wild mane. He wanted to tell Harry that he wasn't like that, that he wasn't naïve. He wanted to say that he wasn't Cedric, but he knew that it'd do nothing at all to reassure him. Besides, that was another can of worms entirely. "Nothing's going to happen to either of us."

Harry closed his eyes and nuzzled into Draco's neck, breathing him in. He could feel his tense shoulders relaxing, his fear and anger and frustration being siphoned out of him by the blonde's soothing touch. "You don't know that."

"I won't get involved."

"You're already involved," Harry told him, arms tightening around Draco's waist as if to stop the boy from leaving, as if Draco was going anywhere, as if he'd ever want to. "Just by knowing me you're involved. What if Nott tells Peter I was asking about him? What if Peter's working for someone else? Someone dangerous?"

"All the more reason _you_ shouldn't get involved," the blonde said, pulling Harry back just enough to look him in the eye. "But this is our night off, alright? We can worry about that tomorrow."

"I can't," the raven sighed, shifting back and putting space between them. But Draco could see he'd already won. "I've got to see Peter in case Nott does tell him. What if the manager's already called him? What if he decides to run? I'll never find him if-"

"Tomorrow," Draco insisted, and kissed him as if the matter was closed. It'd been happening enough lately that it was starting to feel casual and intimate instead of just brazen. "But right now, I know your blood-alcohol level isn't exactly within driving range. What you need to do tonight is curl up in a corner with me, have a few more drinks, and think about this before you go off into the night with some half-baked plan, okay?" He reached down to link their fingers together, eyes on the raven and looking imploring. "Okay?"

Harry watched their hands and eventually nodded, bringing their hands up to kiss across the blonde's knuckles. As much as he hated to just be sitting on this kind of information, this scarce opportunity for answers, Draco was right; he was being too impulsive. How many times had Sirius and Rem warned him about thinking things through? Besides, how was he supposed to say no with Draco looking at him like that? "Yeah, okay."

'_Too easy_,' Draco thought, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. "I swear to god, Harry, if you're just waiting for me to go to sleep tonight so you can sneak off without me knowing, I'll-"

Harry couldn't help but laugh, interrupting the blonde's paranoid threat. He nuzzled into the other boy's pale hand, pressed a grinning kiss to his palm. "I'm not placating you, Draco; I'm compromising. If you don't want me to go, then it can wait."

"Compromise, huh?" Draco said, a ghost of a smirk lighting up his entire face. "Sounds kind of like you're just doing what you're told for once."

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it," the raven chuckled.

Harry had seemed to take Draco's advice, because the rest of their time at the bar was spent on one of the couches near the speaker system, drowning out all other distractions and bringing them back to the one place Draco loved to be, the place where only he and Harry existed. Draco had caught Seamus' eye as they sat down, and Seamus gave him two thumbs-up in approval, smiling knowingly at the way Harry had yet to let go of the blonde's hand.

Draco hadn't intended to get this wasted. Or wasted at all, really. At this point, he couldn't remember why he was so set on getting Potter drunk, only that it was essential to making him stay, which for some reason was of utmost importance. But leading the way into this blissful fog of tequila had been the initial plan, and so intent on getting Harry too drunk to leave, he'd decided to play into the other boy's competitive streak and made a game of it.

As he knocked back his forth (fifth?) shot, standing up seemed an impossible and altogether unnecessary endeavor. Seamus and Dean had left an hour ago, and he was already a shot (or two) ahead of Harry, and the burn down his throat felt like victory.

The band's set was over and the bar's occupants were slowly starting to filter out. Every ten minutes or so, Harry would bring up Nott and Draco would be forced to deflect and start a new, off-topic conversation with something like why Adam Lavine should never wear a shirt or the unjust murder of the Wicked Witch of the West. He was halfway into the latter, when he noticed the contemplative way Harry was watching him.

"What?" Draco questioned, his gaze annoyed at how irritatingly sober Harry still seemed.

"You're keeping something from me," Harry said, sing-song. It was almost surreptitious; the way Draco kept checking his phone. "What's going on?"

_More than you know_, Draco wanted to say, but settled on, "My father wants me to meet him for dinner tomorrow."

"Thinking of telling him, huh?" Harry assumed, looking sympathetic. "Want some advice? Pick somewhere crowded. He won't freak out on you if you're in public."

Draco was about to ask what the raven was talking about, but lost his train of thought at the way Harry was tracing his fingers up the length of his forearm, elbow to wrist and back again. The raven seemed unaware that he was even doing it, but looked up again once he felt Draco shiver.

"Maybe I should come with you," Harry considered, searching Draco's face as if looking for the blonde's opinion, "as, you know…" he paused, blinked, searching for the words, "moral support… or something."

"I don't need you to protect me from my father, Harry. And no offense," Draco said, shooting back the last of his drink and ignoring the way his words wanted to slur, "but my father would hate you."

"Don't they all…" Harry sighed, mostly to himself. "I get it, though. I mean, I wouldn't want you hanging out with me, either, if I were him."

"You mean if you were my daddy?" Draco purred, holding a straight face only until Harry turned wide, incredulous eyes on him. The blonde burst out laughing. "Oh, god, your face."

"Don't do that," the raven told him, mild and sheepish at his own reaction. "Dear old dad is just gonna have to get used to me, I guess."

The blonde didn't have the restraint not to smile at that, the implication that Harry would be around long enough for it to matter. But then he realized it wasn't an implication at all. If all went as planned, Harry would be playing a very major role in his life.

"That… might actually be a good idea," Draco admitted, trying to shake off the warm, languid feeling that was seeping into his bones. "Your first idea, that is, about going somewhere crowded," he backpedaled, smirking. "Your second idea was terrible."

"Speaking of good ideas, I have a great one," Harry told him, setting his barely-even-sipped-at drink down and leaning forward. "How about you stop trying to distract me and just tell me what you're holding over Nott's head already?"

"Noticed that, did you?" Draco taunted lazily, because it had taken Harry over an hour to get to that question. "Conflict of interest. Trust me, Harry, you really don't want to know."

It wasn't that he wouldn't want to know so much as Draco didn't want to tell him. Harry probably wouldn't even care beyond an idle disgust that his psychotic little part-time boyfriend had a brief (very brief, according to Zach) escapade with the school's headline bigot. But Draco had a plan, and part of that plan required him to go completely against his nature and not badmouth the slutbag in front of Harry.

"C'mon," Harry wheedled. "Not even a hint?"

Draco considered him for a second. "Okay, fine. You want to know? Nott got a handjob from someone of the male variety and that someone told me."

"You're kidding," Harry enthused. "Who? Do I know him?"

The blonde paused, feeling dizzy. He stumbled a little as he stood up. "No." _You think you do_, he added in his head, but… "Not really."

"You okay?" Harry asked, reaching out a hand to grab the blonde's elbow, just in case gravity decided to get the better of him.

The blonde just laughed a bit in response, nonsensical and sleepy, and Harry wondered if he should call a cab. He'd never really seen Draco drunk before, or at least not like this. The raven cursed himself for not cutting him off sooner.

"When's the last time you ate something?" Harry questioned, which was stupid considering they ate nearly every meal together. "Let's get you some water."

"One tequila, two tequila," Draco smirked to himself in amusement, holding onto his vacated barstool for balance and brushing his hair back from his paler than usual face. "So the legends are true."

Harry's brow creased in concern. "Are you-?"

"Ugh," Draco stated, a hand clamped over his mouth, before disappearing toward the bathrooms.

Yeah, they'd definitely need a cab.

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

Harry winced at the sounds coming from inside dorm sixty-six's bathroom, that bubbly dry-heave sound. He waited for silence, then knocked. "Can I come in now?" Draco said something Harry couldn't make out. "What?"

"Just wait," Draco groaned, frustrated and sick. "Wait out there."

"Draco, I really don't care what you look like right now, okay? Now's not the time for vanity."

There was no response to that, but after a minute Harry heard a toilet flushing. "Draco?" No answer. "I'm coming in now."

He followed a trail of clothes that led him to the blonde, who was now mostly naked expect for his pants and one sock, hunched over the toilet, head resting heavily on crossed-arms over the down lid. Harry couldn't see his face, but knew his eyes were closed. "Don't pass out on me yet. Drink this first, alright?"

Draco's head lolled so that it was facing him, his eyes barely opening to see the water bottle Harry was trying to get him to take. Uninterested, Draco's face disappeared back into his arms.

"No, no," Harry insisted, hands stroking up and down the blonde's hunched-over back. "C'mon. At least most of it." He got down onto the floor, sitting on his heels and twisting open the bottle. He pulled back on Draco's shoulder until the boy was sitting a bit more upright. "Drink."

Draco gave him an incredibly put-upon sigh, and his eyes were still closed, but at least he started drinking. He didn't stop, in fact, until the water was half gone, gasping when he came up for air. "You're too good to me."

Harry smiled gently down at him. "And you're too good for me."

Draco blinked his eyes open at that, watching him with an expression that was contemplating, guilty, and a bit confused. "Sometimes I wonder if you know me at all."

"You're a way better person than you think you are," Harry told him. "Than you want to be, even. I knew it from the second I saw you, looking all… pissed-off and beautiful," he laughed softly to himself, the memory bringing a smile to his face that he couldn't hide if he wanted to. "I couldn't stop staring."

It was the god's honest truth, but something Harry knew he shouldn't have said, not with the way Draco was looking up at him, especially not with the way Harry was looking back.

"Keep sweet-talking, Harry," Draco said, tapping the raven's chest like a warning. It was softened by the way he was pushing into the raven's hands, silently demanding he keep petting him. "You might just find yourself the youngest groom in Merlin."

Harry laughed a bit to himself and stood up, head shaking in denial. "I'm not that lucky."

"God," Draco breathed out shakily. "You're killing me."

Whereas telling the truth used to be harder than pulling teeth, not telling the truth was about to drive Draco crazy. He was tired of blaming himself, making up excuses for Harry's emotional distance. He _was_ good enough, and the only thing standing between him and Harry wasn't Smith, or Lucius, or anyone; it was _Harry_. Draco had spent months asking himself what he was lacking, what was wrong with him, why he wasn't good enough, but it wasn't him. Harry was the one with the problem.

Draco didn't know what to do about it. He could plan and scheme and remove whatever obstacles that got in his way, but he didn't have the first clue how to go about fixing Harry.

When Draco looked back up, Harry was crouched beside him, brow wrinkled in confusion and concern. "You okay?" he inquired, brushing back a stray hair from Draco's pale face.

"You confuse the hell out of me, Harry," the blonde told him, fighting back another wave of nausea as Harry helped him stand. "You know that?"

"Yeah," Harry answered, sighing. "I confuse me, too."

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

"Wake up, sleepy head."

Draco turned over to escape the sunlight suddenly streaming into his face and tried in vain to ignore the sing-song voice of whoever was trying to wake him up. His mouth tasted like stomach acid and there was a nail driving through the back of his right eye, so Draco decided staying unconscious was a better option than moving unnecessarily.

"C'mon, Draco," Seamus wheedled, jumping up and down as best as he could from where he was sitting cross-legged on Draco's bed. "Look, I brought you some waffles! Harry said to let you sleep, but he also said to feed you, and I'd choose food over sleep any day of the week, so I figured-"

"Harry told you to feed me?" Draco cut him off, squinting tiredly and resigned to the fact that Seamus wasn't going to stop talking.

"Well, he said to make sure you ate something after you took some aspirin and got over the nausea," Seamus told him, gesturing toward his bedside table where some Advil and a bottle of water were waiting.

Struggling to sit up, Draco made grasping motions until Seamus got the hint and handed him two pills and the water bottle.

Seamus started tapping his foot. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"You and a certain someone?" Seamus grinned, eyebrows waggling. "Holding hands? Inebriated night out? C'mon, Draco, spill it."

Draco tried not to gag as he downed the pills. "There's nothing to spill. I got ridiculously drunk and spent the rest of the night trying not to vomit spontaneously."

Seamus looked confused. "Are you sure about that? 'Cause Harry seemed pretty antsy to get out of here before you woke up."

Draco tried to recall what had happened after leaving the bar and didn't have any particular trouble remembering anything. Harry called a cab, they came back to the dorm, Draco spewed for the second time that evening, Harry helped him to bed, and Draco passed out. The details were kind of fuzzy, and he couldn't recall much conversation, but it wasn't like he'd blacked out. Besides, even if he had, Draco would remember if he'd made any unadvisable confessions.

"Nothing happened," he assured, taking a look at the waffles Seamus had brought him and feeling his stomach lurch. "He's probably out searching the parking lot of every motel in Merlin for a grey van with a busted windshield." Seamus raised an eyebrow in question, so Draco told him what happened with Nott the night before in as little words as possible.

"Have you been taking my advice at all?" Seamus questioned suddenly, disappointed and kind of condescending. "I mean, you two should be coordinating prom outfits by now. What's the holdup?"

"He is," Draco told him, falling back into his mattress and willing away his headache. "Against my better judgment, yes, I've been following your advice to the letter, but… I don't know. He's as oblivious as ever."

"No, he's not," sounded a third voice. Blaise stepped out of the bathroom looking freshly showered and eyeing Draco's waffles. "Harry knows exactly what's going on. Are you eating this?"

Seamus threw his hands up when Draco turned a glare on him. "I did _not_ know he was in there!"

Draco snatched the plate away from Blaise and snarled. "I don't recall asking for your opinion," he said, keeping the waffles out of the other boy's reach, "but what the hell are you talking about?"

Blaise sighed and put down the fork. "Okay, it's like this," he cleared his throat. "Due to unresolved self-image and abandonment issues, Harry is prone to denying any and all romantic feelings for anyone he has an emotional connection with. In his mind, he thinks if he enters into a romantic relationship with someone he actually cares about, he'll eventually but without a doubt cause pain to everyone involved. It's a self-defense mechanism."

"Wait, wait," Seamus interrupted, brow knitted. "What about Zach? He didn't hesitate to start a relationship with him at all."

"You call that a relationship?" Blaise scoffed. "Look, it's a working theory, but try to see it this way. Harry starts developing feelings for Draco early on, like… the second they meet, but that's okay as long as he thinks Draco doesn't feel the same way. But then Draco stops pushing him away and he gets scared, finds another boy that just so happens to bear a striking resemblance to Draco, thus transferring all of his pent-up desire for you into a meaningless fling with someone he has no feelings for. That way, twisted and untrue as it may be, no one gets hurt." Blaise paused in his analysis to smirk amusedly. "But then you started this whole seduction thing. Very underhanded, by the way."

"My idea," Seamus stated proudly, raising his hand a little.

"Anyway, Harry starts to notice you're blaring, neon-lit signs and freaks out. He stops sleeping and stays up most nights writing no-doubt depressing, woe-is-me poetry," Blaise concluded offhandedly. "The point is, no matter how many painfully obvious signals you send his way, he'll make up any excuse to keep you platonic. He'll tell himself it's because you were drunk or because you were just goofing off. In short," he smirked, "you, my friend, are double-parked firmly in the friend zone."

"You are so full of shit it's a miracle you're able to walk properly," Draco told him, eyes narrowed and supremely unimpressed. "Besides, I think I would've noticed if Harry wasn't sleeping."

"Considering he sleeps in your bed a lot more often than his, you really should have," Blaise agreed. "But no. He waits until you're tucked-in and fast asleep before becoming a creature of the night."

"But why would he try to hide it?"

"He doesn't want to worry you," Blaise answered with a shrug, like it was so obvious. "Now, can I have the waffles or not?"

"How are you still hungry?" Seamus asked him. "You were eating in the caf not forty minutes ago."

"I'm a stress eater," Blaise defended.

Seamus nodded knowingly. "Secret girlfriend troubles?"

"No use worrying about it until we know for sure, but, uh… She missed her period," Blaise sighed, refusing to look at the wide-eyed expressions his roommates were aiming at him. Silently, Draco handed over the syrupy concoction. "Thank you."

"How do I know your not just making all this up?" Draco questioned, going back to the original topic. He would be saying something about safe-sex demonstrations involving bananas right about now if Blaise didn't look so reluctant to talk about it.

"You don't," Blaise said, and continued with his mouth full, "but if you don't believe me, you could always see what you can find out from Harry's notebooks."

Harry kept his notebooks in his trunk, which was usually locked, but even from here, Draco could see the black and white of a comp notebook peeking out from underneath the raven's Chemistry text book by his bed. For the first time that morning, Draco actually wanted to get up.

"Harry's usually pretty secretive about his lyrics," Seamus stated uncertainly. "You sure you want to invade his privacy like that?"

Smirking, Draco threw back his covers. "Absolutely."

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

Harry really couldn't believe how many motels there were in Merlin. He'd done a three-sixty around the parking lot of every one he could find, and had absolutely no luck in finding Peter. Eventually he'd taken a page out of the book of Murphy's Law and decided to stop looking in favor of catching a late lunch with his godfather. And when that didn't work, he started all over again.

His second check finally paid off when he pulled into the parking lot of the second motel he'd surveyed the first time. The first thing he saw was a TV being carried out of one of the rooms on the ground floor, then he realized that it was Peter carrying it the ten feet it took to get from the door to a grey van, and Harry was so shocked the only thing he could do for a minute was stare as Peter loaded the TV into the back and slid the door shut.

As much as Harry's resentment for this man was growing everyday, he couldn't help but notice that Peter looked terrible. Since the last time he'd seen him, Peter must've dropped about forty pounds. He looked as if he'd taken a power drill to his face and down his arms; seemingly painful sores making him look diseased. He looked old.

"Peter!"

The man was so startled at hearing his name that he dropped the TV, the glass cracking a lightening bolt up one side but surprisingly not shattering all over the concrete. Snapping his head around, Peter's eyes turned into dinner plates the second he saw Harry's face and he booked it to the driver's seat.

The van zoomed out of its parking space erratically in reverse, running over the curb on the other side of the lot and backing into a telephone pole.

So maybe calling out the skittish man's name from a distance was a bad idea, but Harry would be damned if he'd let him get away now.

"Oh, no you don't," Harry muttered to himself, starting up his bike again. Peter's van screeched out of the parking lot, back bumper barely holding on, Harry following right behind him at a speed that was bordering and would no-doubt become illegal as the chase continued.

So of course that was when Harry heard the blare of a police siren. He didn't see the car until it was directly in front of him, blocking his path to Peter, so it must've been idling behind the hedge that divided the motel from the restaurant across from it. He was able to stop before he went head first into the side of the cruiser, but just barely.

"Fuck!" he cursed, pulling off his helmet and grabbing at his hair in frustration. There was no way he'd catch up with Peter now.

The cop approached him like he wasn't in any kind of hurry, and Harry blinked in confusion at the name plate on the officer's shirt. 'Amycus Carrow.'

"Going pretty fast there, kid. Where's the fire?" Harry opened his mouth to answer, but stopped when the cop held up a hand. "That was more a rhetorical question than actual one. License, insurance, and registration, please."

"Look," Harry began to explain. "My godfather's band equipment was stolen last night by a friend of his. That- That guy I was following, the one who just hit a telephone pole, that's him. I was trying to-"

"Some friend," the cop scoffed.

"The man ran into a telephone pole and drove out of here like he was being chased by a mountain lion," Harry said, trying to wrap his head around the situation, "and that's all you've got to say?"

"License, insurance and registration, please," Officer Carrow said again, expression blank. Frustrated, Harry relented. "Harry Potter, huh? Wow, do I have a celebrity on my hands?"

"I'm not-"

"That wasn't really a question, either," the officer told him, turning back toward his car. "You just stay put for a minute, yeah?"

Harry watched as the cop pulled out a cell phone on his way back to the car.

"Chief," Officer Carrow said, getting into the driver's seat. Harry could barely make out the words. "You would not believe who-"

The cop shut the door closed, making it impossible for Harry to continue eavesdropping. It was a short conversation, though, because the officer got back out of the car not five minutes later.

"Yes, sir," the cop said, snapping the phone shut as he approached Harry again. "Have you been drinking tonight, Mr Potter?"

It was like déjà vu, and Harry sighed as he realized he would be here for a while.

A while turned out to be almost an hour, and by that time Harry was way past impatient. "If you're going to ticket me," the raven told him, "I'd appreciate it if you'd get it over with, okay? I walked a straight line, I said the alphabet backwards, I've taken the breathalyzer _twice_; I would like to leave now."

That was the exact moment a nondescript black sedan pulled into the parking lot and idled by the curb. The windows were all tinted dark, so Harry couldn't see who was driving, but he'd bet anything it had government plates.

"Well, in that case, you're free to go," Officer Carrow told him, eyes on the black sedan. "Careful, though. There's a reason doctors' call motorcycle drivers' 'organ donors.'"

Harry wasted no time getting out of there, but it soon came to his attention that the black sedan was behind him. The car was still following behind him three miles later, and if whoever-the-hell was trying to be inconspicuous, then he was really fucking bad at it, because the dude wasn't even trying to stay out of sight. He was right on Harry's back wheel, in fact, forcing the raven to speed up lest he become one with the pavement.

And it continued like this for what felt like hours but couldn't have been more than a handful of minutes, until speed limits became a thing of the past. Harry would try to put some distance between them, Creepy Fuck would speed up more.

Harry had been in Merlin long enough to no longer get lost, but he'd taken so many turns trying to lose the freak behind him that he ended up on some back-road lined entirely by construction sites he'd never seen before. It was deserted, absolutely no other cars around.

He had never gone this fast before, and it was getting hard to concentrate on what was in front of him when all he could focus on was the car chasing behind him. Skeletons of dying trees and buildings he didn't recognize flying past him in a blur, he couldn't stop pressing the accelerator. If he did, he knew –he just _knew_- the car behind him would not slow down and the meat wagon boys would soon be scraping him off the tar.

It felt like an eternity, driving faster and faster, his heart beating so hard in his chest he could hear it. And then Harry saw an empty lot about half a mile ahead of him, a 'coming soon' billboard sign sticking up out of the ground. Snow still covered the ground, and it was hard to tell what he'd be driving into, but anything was better than the road he was already on. In a split second decision, Harry went for it.

As soon as he was off the road and struggling to drive through the slippery, rocky lot, Harry noticed the black sedan start to slow down. Then it stopped, and so did Harry, and then it continued down the street, out of sight, no longer following him. His veins pumping acid, he made his way through the vacant lot carefully and pulled onto a different road on the other side.

Harry struggled to remember to breathe, and even though he felt frozen solid, he was sweating underneath all the layers he'd put on before he'd left that morning. His heart rate slowly returning to normal, he decided to start back in the direction of the school before his luck ran out entirely.

The last thing he remembered was something hitting his back wheel with the force of a stampede and being thrown back into the vacant lot like a rag doll.

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Harry's notebook, it turned out, was in a pretty pathetic state. More than half the pages had been torn out, and the spine was slowly falling apart. There wasn't a whole lot to read, either. Most of it was guitar chords that Draco couldn't make any sense of and entire pages of lyrics had been scribbled out beyond any hope of recognition, but what had survived made Draco feel like hugging Blaise for being so uncharacteristically brilliant.

He didn't, of course. It was the thought that counted.

He would be going to dinner with his father, Draco decided, but Harry would definitely not be invited. It would just be him and Lucius, meeting on his own terms. There would be no more games, no more lies, and absolutely no more secrets. He just hoped this executive decision wasn't a mere product of any left-over alcohol coursing through his system.

Because like it or not, Lucius' opinion mattered, so maybe this dinner actually was a blessing in disguise. If he truly wanted to be with Harry, he had to get all the mess he'd created out of the way first, otherwise it was bound to crash and burn in a fiery display of his own failure and cowardice. And he couldn't lose Harry.

At this point, the raven had yet to return to Hogwarts, and Draco hadn't heard from him, but whatever drama Harry was caught up in this time would have to wait. He had a dinner date with his father that could potentially ruin his life, and no way was he missing it.

"Draco!"

Hearing Seamus' frantic voice, Draco turned around, car door opened mid-way. The Irishman was running towards him, almost slipping on a patch of ice below the front steps. It didn't slow his pace at all.

"Draco, wait!" Seamus skidded to a halt in front of the car, trying to catch his breath.

"Where's the fire?" Draco asked, eyebrow quirked as he got into the driver's seat.

"It's Harry- He-" Seamus attempted, still panting. "There was an accident."

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Harry's godfather and professor Lupin was the first thing Draco saw as he walked through the main entrance of the hospital. At the front desk, Sirius looked like he was getting impatient.

"Where is he?" Draco asked as soon as he was within hearing distance. "Have you seen him? How is he?"

"Mr Malfoy, please calm down," Remus told him, stressed but hiding it well. "We just got here. They haven't told us anything yet."

"Harry Potter," Sirius told the woman sitting behind the desk. "P-O-T-T-E-R."

"They're only allowing immediate family members in to see him," she told them without glances up from the screen of her computer.

"He doesn't… have any," Sirius told her with a wince, trying to be patient and going against every paternal instinct in his body that was practically ordering him to give this woman hell. "I'm his godfather."

Remus squeezed Sirius' shoulder. "I'm his teacher."

The receptionist looked to Draco next with the same question on her lips, Sirius and Remus both following her gaze and waiting for the blonde's answer. Clearly, this was something they wanted to know as well.

Suddenly in the spotlight, Draco shifted from one foot to the other. "Roommate?" he ventured uncertainly. The look the desk lady gave him said he was going to have to do better than that.

"He's also my cousin," Sirius told her with a flippant gesture toward the blonde, like maybe that would help. "Kind of."

"Listen," the receptionist sighed, dropping eye contact completely.

"No, you listen-" Sirius told her sharply, cutting her off and dropping his hands on the counter in a way that would've been considered threatening had he not been grasping at it with such desperation.

"Sirius, please," Remus cut in, pulling the man away from the counter and putting space between them and the startled-looking receptionist.

Sirius ran his shaking fingers through his hair, grasping at it as grey eyes grew wide and pleading. "Please," the man practically whispered. "_Please_. We're the only family he has."

The receptionist sighed again, crossing her arms over her chest for a moment before reaching a hand out to grab the pen she'd previously discarded with their arrival. She wrote something down before ripping the page from a pad of paper and handing it over to Sirius once she was finished. "The elevators are to your left."

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"What do you mean he's gone?"

"Look," the doctor sighed, "we just had a cherry-picker crash into a Starbucks. We can't keep track of every kid who wanders in, let alone on a night like this. We're a very busy-."

"I don't care how busy you are! The kid's underage! Isn't that illegal? How could you just let him leave?"

"We didn't let him leave," the doctor corrected, turning his back to them as he reached over a counter to flip through a pile of folders. His other hand dug into a glass jar filled with lollipops and pulled one out. "They brought him in from a one-person motorcycle accident with minor injuries and a concussion," he explained, flipping through the selected file. As he read, he handed the candy off to Sirius, as if to placate a five year old. "He's a lucky kid, considering what he was driving. We cleaned him up, treated his Chlamydia, and when we came back to check on him, the bed was empty. **Hap****pens all the time," he assured them before glancing up to meet three sets of wide eyes. "What?"**

"Chlamydia?" Draco questioned, breathless. His entire medical history flashed before his eyes, along with every joke he'd ever told during health class.

"Mm-hm," the doctor confirmed, nodding distractedly as he continued flipping pages. "Very common. Very curable."

"Oh, my god!" Sirius exclaimed in disbelief, throwing his hands up. Remus pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"How…" Draco swallowed compulsively, then cleared his throat. "How exactly is that transmitted?"

Sirius buried his face in his hands and groaned in dismay. "Oh, my god."

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

"C'mon, Harry," Sirius mumbled to himself, eyes scanning the sidewalks. "Pick it up."

Beside him, Remus was just hanging up. "The bike was totaled," he said. "They sent it to the junk yard."

"He's still not answering," Sirius told him, frustrated and worried sick. "How could this happen? I brought him up here to make a new start and five months later…" he shook his head. "I _lost_ him. Like a set of fucking keys."

"I'm of the firm belief that the only one to blame for Harry's stupidity is Harry," Draco announced, like that would make anyone feel better. He wasn't worried. At least, not anymore. If he knew Harry at all, and he most definitely did, the brooding raven was likely off somewhere dark and gloomy, disenchanted with the world itself and determined to wallow in it for as long as possible.

He sent a text to Harry's phone reading, 'Where the hell are you?'

Sirius gave the blonde in the backseat a sour look through the rear-view mirror. "Then how do _you_ suggest we go about finding him, oh enlightened one?"

"Sirius," Remus sighed, throwing him a disapproving look and trying to think of anyone else who would know where Harry was.

"Well, he obviously knows Harry better than anyone," Sirius sniped. "Go ahead, tell us. Where do you think he is?"

Draco flipped his phone open the second it buzzed. "Godric's Hollow," he answered, holding his phone up for Sirius to see.

Sirius shared a look with Remus and griped the steering wheel tightly. "Shit."

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They drove through Godric's Hollow with their eyes peels, and they would've done it with all the windows down yelling Harry's name if it wasn't guaranteed to get the cops called. A few houses in they came across an empty patch of land, and centered there was what had to be Harry's childhood home. It looked like it hadn't been touched since the fire, which wasn't very surprising in retrospect. Draco couldn't really imagine anyone wanting to live there after what happened.

They passed the nightmarish, burned-up hole in the ground without even a glimpse of Harry, and it was only heading back out of Godric's Hollow that Sirius stepped on the break.

"Look," Sirius pointed to a lone figure sitting by the cliffs. "C'mon."

"Um," Draco stalled, halfway outside the car. "Maybe you two should stay here."

Sirius gaped at him in utter disbelief. "Okay, that's it," he declared toward the darkened sky, letting his arms drop to his sides. Remus sent him a sharp look of warning. "When exactly were you crowned the high authority on how to deal with Harry, huh?"

"Sirius," Remus sighed.

"No," Sirius said, "No, I want to hear this. And since when does a Malfoy care about anything but himself, huh? All you've done for Harry since you met him was drag him into your family's never ending publicity stunt."

"He's trying to find Peter," Draco said slowly, as if talking to a child. "You know, your drug-dealing manager? Maybe if you'd had the courage to kick his thieving ass to the curb before he could become a problem, Harry wouldn't have been out by himself tonight trying to find answers." And just to rub it in, "On a death trap _you_ gave to him, nonetheless."

Remus raised a hand to stop the blonde from commenting further. "Draco, that's-"

"You want to put the blame on me? I'm not the one who-"

"Enough!" Remus shouted at the both of them, now at the end of his patience. They stared at him in surprise. "Do you even realize what could've happened if he hadn't been so lucky? Harry could've _died_ tonight! And you two want to argue about whose fault it is?"

Sirius shook his head. "I'm going to get him," he stated, walking away.

"Why do you think he wouldn't answer your calls?" Draco demanded from behind him. "Because he knew when you came to get him, you'd treat him with kid gloves and approach him like some kind of wild animal. You'd be all nice and caring when everyone involved knows what you really want to do is tell him off for being so stupid in the first place. He'd be waiting for the moment you get fed up and start interrogating him." Draco took a deep breath. "Just- If he knew you two were with me, he wouldn't have even told me where he was. Let me talk him down a little first."

Sirius looked at the blonde as if evaluating him, and Draco wasn't sure what assessment he came to, but after a long moment he sighed in defeat and got back in car, slamming the door and muttering to himself. Draco took that as his cue to start walking toward the cliffs.

When he approached him, Draco wanted to wince at the bandages covering the raven's right forearm, the one just a few inches from his left temple. There was a painful-looking scrape along his cheekbone that was turning an odd color. His clothes looked like he'd stolen them off a homeless man and his aviator jacket was in tatters. His legs were hanging off the side, kicking back and forth. Below them, the salty waves were crashing against the rocks, ensuring a very painful fall.

"You couldn't wait until I woke up?" Draco questioned, making his presence known. It was cold out, and he didn't have any clue how Harry could stand it, being out here for so long.

"You would've convinced me to stay," Harry told him, picking up little stones and absently tossing them off of the edge. After a moment he turned to look at the blonde. "Did you see it?"

Sitting down beside the raven and resolutely not looking down, Draco nodded and tried to ignore the vertigo. Yes, he had seen the charred corpse that was once Harry's home. "Is that what you came out here for? Just to see it?"

Harry shook his head, shrugged. "I don't know."

Draco didn't know what else to say, so he picked up a stone and threw it into the surf. It was a long way down.

"Did you know there are these conspiracy theories online about the fire?"

Draco sighed with exasperation. "Harry-"

"I know," the raven said, "but hear me out. One of them mentioned something about witnesses who said there had been another person living in the house-"

"Harry, stop it."

"-and when I was talking to Sirius earlier, he said Peter had stayed there for a while before the fire."

"Your parents' house burned down from a defective light bulb in the basement," Draco told him, matter-of-fact. "Why won't you just accept that and leave it alone?"

"Because that's not what happened," Harry insisted emphatically. "You don't find it the least bit suspicious? Look, the article we read said that the guest room was being painted upstairs."

"So what? My mother changes the décor every six months. That doesn't prove anything."

"What if they were getting the room ready for someone?" Harry questioned. "Sirius told me my parents were letting him stay in the basement."

"Do you even know what you're getting yourself into? I swear to god, Harry, almost becoming roadkill today wasn't enough for you?"

"That's another thing," Harry said before going on to explain what had put him in the hospital.

"A car chase," Draco stated flatly when he was finished. "You promise me not to go anywhere, and then you get yourself involved in a car chase."

"The guy ran me off the road!" Harry protested. "And that was after the cop let me go. It was weird –even weirder than the first time I was stopped. And it wasn't until I went to pay the cab and found _this_ in my wallet that I knew for sure who it was."

Harry pulled something out of his coat pocket and passed it to Draco, a little sheet of paper.

'_In the castle should stay the curious Knight  
__Locked in a tower and hidden from sight  
__Heed the King's warning and stay in your place  
__For no answers will come from a fruitless chase.'_

"I think Riddle's protecting him," the raven thought aloud. Draco was still staring at the creepy poem. "I don't know why, but… why else would he…?" Harry trailed off into his own thoughts.

"Try to kill you?" Draco finished for him, letting the piece of paper drop from his hands and float down, down, down into the crashing surf.

"He wasn't trying to kill me," Harry scoffed. "He was trying to _scare_ me. He was trying to threaten me so I'd stop looking."

"You can't keep on like this," Draco sighed. "I admit it, alright? Something definitely happened. But even if you do somehow manage to find Peter again, do you actually think he'll admit to murdering your parents? To killing Cedric? There's no way."

"I don't know," Harry said, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"Harry, listen to me, okay? I know you want answers. For whatever reason, I know you think you need to know," Draco told him. "But whatever it is, it's not going change anything. Knowing won't bring anyone back to life."

"Don't you think I know that?" Harry replied, a bitter laugh dying on his tongue.

"Then why are you still looking?" Draco demanded, his voice rising in frustration. "Why do you want to torture yourself? You-!"

The raven looked up when Draco stopped shouting, and watched as the blonde's eyes fell to his hands.

"You scared the hell out of me today, Harry," Draco told him, squeezing his eyes shut. The truth of his words rang in his ears. He'd never been more scared in his entire life than he was on the drive to the hospital. "Do you even get that?"

Harry took the other boy's hand in his bandaged one. "I'm sorry."

"Then stop," Draco replied, almost snatching his hand back. "Don't do it again. Just _stop_."

"I can't do that," Harry refused, regretful but honest. "I know you don't understand it, but… I _need_ this, okay? I mean, call it closure, but not knowing is driving me crazy." He stopped, trying to find the right words. "I owe it to them to find out what happened, Draco. What _really_ happened."

Draco stared at him for a long time, trying to understand. Harry felt obligated, that much was obvious. Was there nothing he could say to stop Harry from putting himself in danger?

"You can't run off without telling me," the blonde finally sighed, sliding back from the cliff and helping Harry up as he rose to stand. Wincing in pain at the movement, the raven nodded in agreement.

"I won't."

"No matter what happens, you have to tell me," Draco reiterated. "And in person, too, not via Seamus."

Harry smiled tiredly and pulled Draco towards him by the sleeve to press a kiss against his cheek. "I promise."

Draco turned his face away, almost shuddering. "Ugh."

"What?" Harry asked as the blonde backed away from him.

"The, uh," Draco stalled, coughed, surreptitiously wiping his cheek with the inside of his sleeve. "The doctor had to treat you for Chlamydia."

Harry blinked widely. "What?"

"It's an-"

"No, I- I know what it is. I just-" Harry stuttered, hands practically wringing his hair. "Holy shit, are you sure?"

Draco nodded, sympathetic. "Turns out safe-sex IDs aren't foolproof."

Harry's shoulders started shaking, and Draco was almost concerned before he realized that the raven was laughing. A bit hysterical, but it was something. "I'm sorry," he said, "but that's just the cherry on top of a perfect day."

"No, I get it," Draco frowned, arms crossed over his chest. "Sexually transmitted diseases are hilarious. Now let's go before someone reports a double suicide attempt."

Remus and Sirius had the car idling when they approached, and when they noticed Draco walking back, Harry in tow, they both got out again and rushed to the raven's side.

"Harry," Sirius breathed out in a sigh, pulling the boy into a hug so tight it hurt. Remus made Sirius stop when Harry hissed at the pressure on his bruised side, only to pull him into a hug just as tight.

"I'm okay," Harry told them. "It's just a scratch, guys. I'm fine."

Sirius looked at the bandages, the scrapes, the bruises, the mutilated jacket. He sighed. "C'mon, kiddo. You're staying with us tonight."

"Uh," Harry stalled, resisting when Sirius put a hand on his shoulder to steer him to the backseat. His eyes strayed over the Draco. "Actually…"

"Draco can stay over, too," Remus offered quickly. "If he wants to. You know, to help us make sure you don't fall asleep. You've got some extra clothes at the apartment, don't you, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry sighed, relieved. He didn't want them to think he was choosing Draco over them, because it wasn't like that. He just… wanted the blonde around tonight. "Thanks, Rem."

"No problem," Remus assured him, waiting until Harry was inside the car before turning to give Sirius a significant look. Amongst the obvious relief and concern, there was a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

Sirius huffed out a short, weary laugh, sharing Remus' thoughts exactly. "Oh, my god."

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

"What about this one?" Harry asked, holding up a black t-shirt that read 'YOUR MOM'S HOT.'

"You're disgusting," Draco told him, nose wrinkled.

"I'm sorry I don't own any dresses, okay?" Harry grinned before shaking the shirt he was still holding up. "But this is as good as it's gonna get."

"I'm not wearing that," Draco stated, turning his nose up at the perverted piece of fabric. "Give me the other one." The other one was a red t-shirt that was way too big even on the boy who owned it. It read 'THAT'S WHAT HE SAID.' It was either that or 'SUPPORT THE ARTS. SLEEP WITH A MUSICIAN.'

"So this is what it's like to be poor," Draco sniffed, pulling it over his shoulder again as it slipped. "God, it's even bigger than I thought."

Harry started laughing despite himself. "That's what he said."

"Mature," Draco sneered, picking up the remote to throw at Harry's big stupid head. It hit the wall behind the raven instead, but watching Harry fumble as he put the batteries back in was almost as satisfying as braining him would've been.

There was a knock on the open doorframe. "We're hitting the sack, Harry," Sirius told him, looking like there was a lot more he wanted to say. He was trying to avoid looking at Draco, who was watching him with narrowed, accusing eyes. They were the eyes of a Malfoy in hold of a grudge, and Sirius wanted nothing to do with that.

"You guys okay in here?" Remus asked, looking between Sirius and Draco amusedly.

Harry nodded, "Yeah, we're fine." He elbowed Draco in the side and raised his eyebrows at him pointedly.

Draco sighed. "Thank you," he said, as if reading it from a script, "for letting us stay the night."

"Anytime," Remus responded, covering a laugh with a cough at just how proud Harry's beaming smile was, as if he was saying, 'See that? Yeah, I did that.' "Don't let him fall asleep," Remus told the blonde, as if Draco would forget and absentmindedly let Harry slip into a coma. Draco nodded listlessly.

Sirius, for his part, looked terribly confused. He opened his mouth, closed it, and when he opened it again, noise came out. "Leave the door open."

"Sirius," Remus laughed, surprised. "Leave them alone." He swatted the man's shoulder before headed off to his own bedroom. Sirius looked to where Harry was trying not to laugh at him, to where Draco was openly smirking at him, and then left the room, a frustrated groan which sounded more like a hollow growl at the back of his throat.

Draco waited until he was out of sight before getting up to close the door, leaning his ear against it and snickering at the incredulous voice of Sirius as he squawked, "He closed the door! Did you see that? Damn it, he's just doing it 'cause I said not to." Remus reply was veiled by laughter. "Then what are you so worried about?"

Turning back toward the bed, he found Harry staring at him. The shirt he was wearing had again slipped off his shoulder, and Harry cursed the way Draco looked, and that he looked that way _all the time_, nonstop, every day. Draco's hair was still damp from his shower, and the ends curled a little without the aid of any product. Looking away was like pulling teeth, and he failed spectacularly to make it look casual when he did.

Draco noticed. "Are you really okay?"

"I'm fine," Harry told him, scratching at the bandage on his palm.

"_Half the time_," Draco sung teasingly, giving the words a vague shape. "_I think I made you up in my mind. And the other half's reserved for telling you that I'm fine_."

Harry blinked at the lyrics in pale recognition. "I can't believe you read that," he said, gaping in betrayal and embarrassment.

Draco shrugged. "I like it," he defended, smiling and guiltless.

"Why would you do that? Could you not do that?" Harry told him, arms crossed huffily over his chest and resolutely not looking at the blonde next to him. He was starting to look a little red, but it wasn't from the anger he was trying so desperately to sell. "Big invasion of privacy, Draco."

"It's beautiful," the blonde told him, honest and defensive on Harry's behalf.

"It's corny," Harry corrected, pretending to be interested in flipping through the TV menu. "I can't believe you _read_ that."

Harry was propped up on the headboard in Remus' guestroom, the room that was supposed to be Sirius' but had never been occupied. His legs were stretched out in front of him, so it was easy for Draco to drape himself across Harry's lap like a housecat demanding attention. He was directly in front of the TV screen, so Harry watched the ceiling instead.

"_Even when I know you can tell it's a lie_," Draco urged, smiling and continuing where he'd left off. He poked at the raven's stomach until Harry was smiling, too.

"_But thinking of you feels like crossing a line_," Harry indulged, soft and sweet, singing it the way it was made to be sung. "_The boy with the eyes of a cloudy sky, it'll take me forever to tell you goodbye_."

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**Author's Note:** First of all, I want to thank everyone who has stuck with this story for so long, waiting for an update. I've gotten so much feedback from people who've read it from beginning to end, over and over, and I can't tell you guys how much it means to me.

Anyway, leave a review, tell me what you think.


	26. The Past Tense of Catch

**Rating:** Mature.

**Warning:** Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness. Drug-use.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any songs mentioned in this chapter.

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**Previously:**

Not long after finding out that Peter stole all of the Marauder's band equipment, Harry found out about Theodore Nott's moonlighting career as a drug-dealer and that Peter was supplying him. Setting out to confront him despite promising Draco otherwise, Harry got into a car chase that landed him in the ER. Elsewhere, Draco finally decided to come out to Lucius, but stood him up at the last minute in favor of finding Harry, who'd escaped from the hospital after being diagnosed with a few good contusions, a concussion… and an STD.

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**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

**The Past Tense of Catch**

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The morning after Harry's accident, if you could call it that, found Harry and Draco sleeping in. The only one not up for a lazy Sunday spent in pajamas was Remus, who'd gone out to get breakfast after seeing Harry considering the questionable-looking take-out boxes that had been sitting in his fridge for who knew how long. After the night they'd had, the fact that nobody felt like cooking went without saying.

And it was then- with Draco just getting up and Harry trying to convince him not to, with Sirius flipping through endless soap operas and infomercials on the couch, having a pre-breakfast snack consisting entirely of dry coco puffs straight from the box- that an out-of-place looking town car pulled up in front of Remus' apartment. All Sirius was aware of, however, was the brisk knock at the door.

Assuming unthinkingly that Remus had either forgotten his key, or just that his hands were full, Sirius unlocked the door and pulled it open. Standing there in his _Invader Zim_ pajama pants and still holding the box of cereal, Sirius came face-to-face with possibly the last person he was excepting to see.

"Uh…"

"Sirius Black," stated the very professionally-dressed Lucius Malfoy dryly, stepping around him to get inside without an invitation to do so. Lips pursed, his eyes scanned his surroundings with a distaste that required absolutely no outward expression. "How… expected."

"Kind of wish I could say the same, really," Sirius muttered, and for a second they were just standing there, staring at each other. Uncomfortable, Sirius sat his cereal box on top of the television and crossed his arms over his chest, tapping out a beat on his elbow.

Lucius raised an incredulous eyebrow and considered sighing. "My son? I've been led to believe I could find him here."

"Oh! Yeah, he's with…" And it was right at that moment that Sirius realized how incredibly bad this situation was about to get. He started inching backwards toward the hallway, trying and failing to make it seem inconspicuous. "Um, I'll just go and… you know, get him."

"Unless you would like a lawsuit," Lucius told him, eyes narrowed and suddenly very suspicious as to what he'd find in the hallway. "You'll move aside."

The door wasn't closed, but it was just open enough that they could hear Harry and Draco speaking from the hallway. Sirius felt like he should warn them or something, but short of yelling 'Draco! Your dad's here! Hide!' Sirius couldn't think of anything.

"Draco, c'mon," they could hear from outside the door, "don't put your pants on."

That was when Lucius decided enough was enough, apparently, because he pushed the door open and watched with wide eyes as Draco, who had yet to notice him, finished pulling up his pants. He was still wearing the very incriminating shirt he'd slept in and Harry, who was still sprawled across the bed, was pulling on one of the blonde's belt loops beckoningly. They were both smiling. Sirius cringed in trepidation.

"I was up until three last night, thanks to you," Draco responded, unhooking the raven's fingers from his pants. "And now I'm leaving before anyone notices I'm gone. Could you imagine what would happen if my father found out I'd spent the night?"

"A little late for that."

Draco honest-to-god jumped at hearing his father's voice. "Father," he breathed, and then stopped. He looked at Harry, whose wide eyes mirrored his own, gulped in panic, speechless. "I-"

"Get in the car, Draco," Lucius said, entirely too calm and glaring daggers at Harry. But then Draco looked as if he might try to speak, and Lucius snapped at him, "Now!"

"Hey!" Harry shouted in protest, leaping off the bed as Draco rushed out the door. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew this man was Draco's father. Logically, he knew Mr Malfoy could and had every right to tell Draco what to do. But Harry had never seen Draco look so scared before, and he couldn't just sit back and not do something about it.

Sirius put his hands on Harry's shoulders, just in case, because the raven looked sort of like he might punch Lucius in the face, and while Sirius kind of wanted to do the same thing, Lucius knew far too many lawyers for that to ever be a good idea. Besides, it seemed kind of counterproductive to keeping the peace.

"You." Lucius snarled in disgust. "Harvey, right?"

That was when Remus came in, looking alarmed and wondering if he would need to call the police. He'd run into Draco on the way in, the boy looking worryingly distraught and booking it toward an idling car Remus didn't recognize. And if that didn't tell Remus the kid was in a hurry to get out of there, the fact that his feet were clad in only socks certainly did.

"It's Harry," Harry corrected, noticing vaguely that Remus was back, standing behind Lucius in the doorway with his arms full of take-out bags.

"It's been a great displeasure meeting you, Harvey," Lucius told him snidely, and it was a shock to notice how much like Draco he sounded. "Really. I've heard so many terrible things about you. But now it's time for us to leave. And should you attempt continuing this conversation, allow me to clear things up for you. If you ever come anywhere near my son again, I'll have you sent back to whatever juvenile detention center they released you from. Do you understand?"

Deciding that peace and lawyers could simultaneously go to hell, Sirius let go of Harry's shoulders.

"I think there's been some mistake here, Mr Malfoy," Remus cut in, placating. "Draco was just-"

"Leaving," Lucius said with finality, glaring hatred at Remus. "Draco is leaving. Now get out of my way."

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"Would you just stop!" Draco shouted as he wrenched the car door open. "You embarrassed the hell out of me back there."

"_You're_ embarrassed? Draco, look at you." Lucius' eyes went from his bed-rumpled hair, his embarrassing t-shirt, to his shoeless feet. "You're a walking embarrassment."

"You're jumping to conclusions!" Draco told him, following behind him at his heel and trying, just like he'd been trying all during the ride back to school, to explain.

Over his shoulder, Lucius sent him a look of utter revulsion that required zero eye-contact. "I found you in some stranger's apartment, half-dressed, getting out of _bed_ with that boy."

As they walked through the lobby, students and teachers alike stopped to stare, rubbernecking to get a better look at them, at his unusual, distressed state, his furious father. "He has a name," Draco muttered as he followed Lucius up the stairs to Dumbledore's office, sideswiping McGonnagal.

Lucius didn't look back at him, but Draco could see his look of abhorrence regardless. "Oh, I'm sure I can find plenty of things to call him."

Gritting his teeth at his father's stubbornness, Draco stood boldly in front of the Headmaster's door and refused to move until Lucius met his eyes for the first time since Remus' guestroom. "Just what did I do that was so terrible?" he asked, his voice barely even a whisper.

"It's not anything you've done," Lucius said with force, looking away from Draco and to the door behind him. "It's the person you've become that's so disappointing. I'm a reasonable man, but I refuse to watch you do this to yourself."

Draco's voice rose with defiance. "Doesn't it matter what I want?"

"You've been trying to get my attention for months, Draco. You've embarrassed me, lied to me, ignored me. You've made a joke of our entire family. And now you've forced me to realize what I've been trying to deny for a very long time," Lucius told him, unsettlingly calm as he moved passed his shell-shocked son and into Dumbledore's vacant office. "Seems to me like you're getting exactly what you wanted."

The thing about that statement that hit Draco so hard was how utterly true it was. This _had_ been what Draco wanted. His father knew precisely what he never could admit to his face, and Draco didn't have to tell him. But this wasn't how he thought it would happen, and not at all how he'd _wanted_ it to happen. Draco wondered what the universe had against him to make it so the only time he ever got what he wanted was when he no longer wanted it.

Because this wasn't what he wanted anymore. He would gladly keep his father oblivious for the rest of his natural life if it meant he didn't have to leave Harry alone. And thanks to his own fucking cowardice, Lucius would probably try his damnedest to make sure Draco never saw him again.

"If you'd just let me explain-"

"Your explanations come with far too much fiction, Draco. I don't want to hear it," Lucius told him, taking a seat. Dumbledore should be along in no time, considering the spectacle they'd made in the lobby, but he wasn't looking forward to the wait. "You've officially run out of chances."

"Harry was run off the road last night," Draco said to the back of his father's head, willing him to turn around and look at him. "Did you know that? He could've _died_. His godfather and professor Lupin let me stay the night to help keep an eye on him. That's the only reason I was there. He had a concussion and we stayed up most of the night watching terrible stand-up comedy. That's _all_," he explained. "And speaking of chances, you've been assuming from the start that Harry's everything the press has made him out to be, but have you ever considered giving him half a chance to prove that he's not?"

That made Lucius pause. He had, in an offhanded way, noticed the bandages the other boy had been sporting. The part of him that was dead set on Potter being a classless ruffian had probably just attributed the injuries to a bar fight or something of that nature. But now that Draco had given him an explanation, Lucius realized he might've jumped the gun in making assumptions.

But that didn't change what he had seen. It didn't change anything.

"I agreed to meet with you both yesterday," Lucius told him slowly, immovable. "That was me giving him a chance."

"He was in the hospital!" Draco said, throwing his hands up incredulously.

"That's why phones were invented," his father responded condescendingly, turning a page of the _National Geographic _he'd taken from a pile of them on the Headmaster's desk. '_Understanding the Mysterious Teenage Brain'_, read the article he was looking at. He inwardly sighed, too frustrated to appreciate the irony. "And if you raise your voice to me again, I'll forget about letting you stay entirely."

That decision was about a minute old, actually. Seeing his son with his pants off had pretty much guaranteed Draco would be transferred to Durmstrang, but in light of new, very recent information, Lucius had to admit that changing schools did seem a bit overkill. Seeing Draco's entire body wilt with relief made Lucius almost regret changing his mind.

"You're letting me stay?"

"Don't look so relieved," Lucius told him, letting the magazine fall closed. "I'm letting you stay at Hogwarts, but you're more out of your mind than I thought if you think for a minute I'm letting you stay in the dorms after what you pulled."

The way Draco looked, Lucius might as well be sentencing him to a lifetime of solitude on the moon. "I'm going back to a private room?"

"I'm afraid that would be quite impossible," Dumbledore said upon entering the room, Snape following in behind him before shutting the door. "If you'd made this inquiry earlier, there wouldn't be any trouble, but the private rooms have been unavailable for weeks. I apologize."

Lucius wondered if he was paranoid or if he could actually believe that. "Just what do you suggest we do about this then?"

"My staff has informed me of what happened, Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore sighed, walking around them and dropping into the chair behind his desk, "and while missing curfew is strictly forbidden, considering the circumstances, I think it can be forgiven."

"Just what circumstances are you referring?" Lucius asked with a sudden, terrible feeling about the direction of this conversation.

"As I'm sure you know," the Headmaster said, choosing his words carefully, "Draco has developed something of a friendship with another student named Harry Potter."

"I'm aware," Lucius said through his teeth, eyes narrowed. He didn't like the way Dumbledore had said the word friendship. Was he the only man in Merlin who hadn't known?

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Yes, well, it seems Harry was involved in a car accident yesterday evening. Seeing as you have given consent to allow Draco to leave the school on his own terms, he went to the hospital Harry had been admitted to and then stayed the night in one of our professor's homes to make sure he was alright."

"That is hardly the point," Lucius told him, condescending as ever. "When I sent Draco to this school, I was under the impression that he would be looked after. This morning, I had no idea where my son was and neither did anyone at this school."

"And I deeply apologize for that, but I think I have a solution that might put your mind at ease," Dumbledore said, threading his fingers together on top of his desk. "We have a punishment at this school that the students' have taken to referring to as 'Hogwarts' Arrest', which is where a student with the permission to leave the school of his own accord is suspended of those privileges. In short, if you'd like, we will make certain Draco never leaves the premises without your expressed allowance."

"And just who will be watching him to make sure he doesn't do it anyway?"

"That would be me, unfortunately," Snape spoke up with the exasperation of someone who had seen this disaster coming from a mile away and had watched it happen in slow motion. "I will be working in tandem with Draco's other teachers to make sure he's present for all of his classes and I'll be checking in at random intervals to make sure he hasn't left the school."

"Draco," Lucius said, "give Severus your keys."

"Wonderful," Dumbledore announced, clapping his hands together. "Now if that's all-"

"If that's all?" Lucius parroted incredulously. "Of course that isn't all. You've given your solution to Draco constantly being left unsupervised, but you've failed entirely to address the problem of Harry Potter."

"I wasn't aware there was a problem," the Headmaster stated, watching as a drained-looking Draco finally dropped into a seat beside his father. There was a question behind his calm expression. "Harry Potter is an exceptional, talented young man, Mr Malfoy, I assure you. You could ask anyone and I'm sure they'd have nothing but nice things to say about him."

"That boy is a menace, Dumbledore," Lucius said. "And while I'm sure he's managed to charm his way into the good books of everyone at this daycare you like to call a school, I believe its well within my rights to insist you keep your exceptional, talented golden boy away from my son."

Dumbledore blinked a few times, trying to absorb that. "Well, while I don't agree with your opinion of Harry's character, I suppose if you feel so strongly about it, we could have Draco switch dorms with another-"

"Wha-? No!" Draco protested, standing up. It was as if he'd been reanimated, the defiance in his eyes flickering back to life like fire meeting kerosene.

"Draco," Lucius warned.

"Father, no. Please," Draco pleaded. "I don't want to switch rooms."

"This isn't about what you want, Draco," his father told him, emphatic and exasperated. "This is about what you need. You need to stop deluding yourself and realize that this boy is _not_ good for you. For god sake, Draco, look at you!" he very nearly shouted, throwing his hands up and gesturing to everything Draco encompassed. "He's turned you into this pathetically co-dependent version of who you used to be and you're _begging_ me to let it continue. Do you honestly believe he cares about you at all? Are you _really_ that naïve?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Draco told him, choking up and desperate for anything, anything at all, that would make his father change his mind. His eyes were stinging, and he steadfastly ignored the worried looks Dumbledore and Snape were sending him. "Harry would never- He's not like that. I swear he's not."

"I won't-" Lucius paused to clear his throat, looking away from his son's miserable face. "I won't be dragged into another Harry Potter debate with you."

"Father- Father, please. Just give him a _chance_," Draco begged, falling back into his seat and mortified at the way his eyes were on the brim of spilling over with tears and trying his damnedest to force them back with the heel of his palms. This was his worst nightmare. Here he was, breaking down right in front of his father, his teacher, his headmaster. "Please, just- _Please_!"

"Draco?" Lucius questioned, standing up. He looked at Snape and the Headmaster. "Would you both excuse us?"

"I can't leave him," Draco sobbed, head dropping to his hands, curling in on himself. "You don't get it. He's falling apart as it is. I can't-"

He felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder, and there his father was, knelt in front of him, looking so concerned that Draco felt like crying all over again. Dumbledore and Severus had left the room at his father's request, and Draco burned with shame.

"Come on now," Lucius told him, handing him a tissue from the box on the Headmaster's desk. "Dry it up."

Draco laughed wetly at that. Suddenly it was like he was eight years old again, and he'd fallen off his bike, scrapping his knees up and crying into his father's shoulder, who would rub his back until he stopped, telling him it was okay and to dry it up.

"I can't leave him now," Draco repeated, wiping his eyes. His voice was still shaking terribly. "Harry's reckless. He's reckless and impulsive and I don't think there's anyone in the world more stubborn." He turned to his father imploringly, all wide, red eyes and painful honesty. "But he's been through so much more than you can even imagine, and he's terrified of losing people. If there's anything- anything I can be sure of, it's that Harry would never hurt me. It would kill him."

These words were spoken with such absolute certainty that Lucius suddenly couldn't think of anything to say. This was an over-reliance the likes of which he'd never seen aside from narcotic addiction. And surely it couldn't be healthy to be so caught up in someone else that the mere thought of not seeing them anymore caused a reaction like this. It was ridiculous.

But Lucius knew it was genuine, all the same. This wasn't some act designed to make him cave; this was Draco in mourning. Draco honestly thought this was the end of everything, everything he cared about. And Lucius had always hated seeing him so upset.

"Before school started, I was miserable," Draco continued, earnest in a way Lucius wasn't used to seeing. "I was trying so hard to be what you wanted, and I was _miserable_. I hated everyone. I hated _myself_. I hated that I was going to be unhappy for the rest of my life trying to be… But then I met Harry. And I tried so hard to hate him," he sobbed. "I couldn't. He made it impossible. Right from the start it was like he knew I wasn't who I was pretending to be and I-"

Draco cut himself off and let out a shaky sigh. "When you sent me that letter," he said, "I was so angry at you. You said- You said I was sickening. That-"

Lucius looked affronted. "I never-"

"You said the rumors about me and Harry were sickening," Draco reiterated firmly. "That Sirius was 'revoltingly abnormal' because he's gay."

"Sirius Black is revoltingly abnormal because he's an ex-convict who rides about the country in a big van, playing rock and roll music for sniveling teenagers," Lucius told him. "He's mentally stuck at the age of fourteen, always has been. The fact that he's gay has nothing to do it. And as for the rumors about you and that boy, they _are_ sickening, Draco. The thought of my son being stupid enough to be lured in by a boy like that –the spitting image of Sirius Black- sickens me to the core."

Draco's eyes had shot up to stare at him and he wondered if he'd been wrong in assuming all these years that he was a pessimist, because he felt like he might choke on the hope that had suddenly welled up in his throat. He tried to swallow it down, knowing he was only setting himself up for further disappointment, but it was persistent. Was it even possible to imagine, just for a moment, that his strained relationship with his father was only a product of simple misunderstanding? Doubtful, to say the least, but he supposed anything was _possible_.

"I thought you'd hate me," Draco breathed, eyes looking at him in such surprise that Lucius wondered how they'd ended up here. "I thought-"

"I don't hate you," Lucius sighed, squeezing the boy's shoulder. "You look far too much like me for me to hate you."

That got a ghost of a smile out of the younger of the two, but it didn't last very long. There was a look of emotional purging written all over Draco's face, how the world felt after a rainstorm. "If you knew him the way I know him, you'd understand."

"If I knew him the way you do," Lucius told him, lifting Draco's chin up, "I'd be in prison."

Draco's laughter was borderline hysterical, but it was progress nonetheless. "I haven't slept with him," he sniffed, because the last thing he wanted was for Lucius to think this was some torrid sex thing. "Not that it's any of your business."

"As much as I detest having to even think about that," Lucius shook his head. "I must admit it's not what I'm worried about." Draco raised an eyebrow at him in question. "What the press has said about him may not be entirely factual, Draco, but that Diggory boy, the one who overdosed on drugs-"

"Harry doesn't do drugs," Draco preempted. "Honestly, Harry's such a goody two-shoes sometimes I can't stand it. He doesn't even smoke. He won't even let _me_ smoke."

Lucius blinked. "You smoke?"

"No," Draco back-peddled awkwardly. "Well, not anymore. Harry kept… throwing them away."

Lucius fell back into his chair and sighed heavily. "I feel like we haven't spoken for years."

"Well," Draco ventured, his eyes on his lap, "we haven't, really."

And it was sad that they'd managed to grow so distant with so little effort. Lucius had once been a hero in Draco's eyes; how could something as fleeting as puberty managed to drive such a wedge between them? Easily, Lucius supposed. He had been intent on not acknowledging the fact that the Malfoy bloodline ended with Draco, and Draco had interpreted it as disgust. Simple, yet utterly complicated.

"Listen," Lucius cleared his throat. "Your… preferences."

"It's not a preference," Draco corrected, earning nothing but a glare for the interruption.

"You're my only son, and it's not the life I wanted for you. Of course it isn't, but… I think I've known it for a while, really, but I… I- Do you remember the pool boy?"

Draco blinked widely before giving a hesitant nod. "…Um."

"You spent so much time in the pool that summer you almost got a _tan_," Lucius said, and the disbelieving way he said tan would've sounded unwarranted had he not been a Malfoy, but he was and they both knew Malfoys' could get very red, but they couldn't tan. "An entire summer spent making eyes at the pool boy. From the second I saw that look, that's when I knew."

"And you fired him because of it," Draco reminded bitterly, but yes, he supposed that was when this _tension_ between them had started.

"It's not that you were looking that made me fire him, Draco," Lucius told him. "It's the fact that he was looking _back_, the fact that every time he saw you looking, he took off his shirt. You weren't even in your teens yet, and suddenly there was some boy just waiting to take advantage of you."

"Wow," Draco stated, because all this time, unbelievably, maybe they really _had_ just been misunderstanding each other.

"I wouldn't let it happen then and I certainly won't let it happen now."

Draco sighed. "What can I say to make you understand that Harry isn't like that? He would never take advantage of anyone."

"So you keep saying," Lucius said, resigned and realizing they were speaking in circles. "I just want to be sure this isn't a phase for you."

"It's not."

Lucius tapped his fingers on the armrest of his chair, staring straight forward. "You're absolutely sure."

Draco nodded, trying not to smile. "I'm sure."

"And that boy…" Lucius grit his teeth. "Harry…"

"Yes," Draco answered before he could ask. Yes, it was Harry. It was only ever Harry. It would only ever_ be_ Harry.

"And you're sure?"

Draco laughed. "Father."

Lucius' lip curled. "Does it have to be that one? What about that one boy you were friends with? He seemed a bit questionable. The Nott boy?"

"Theo Nott," Draco stated, internally marveling at his father's unexpected gay-dar, "is a methamphetamine-dealing closet case."

Lucius sat back, trying to digest that. "Oh."

"Yeah," Draco nodded. "Harry pushed him into the lake once for calling me a faggot."

And as much as he wanted to hate the raven-haired boy, Lucius couldn't help but feel a surge of approval at that. Because Draco could be difficult, and Lucius couldn't imagine him taking being rescued very well at all. But the boy from this morning hadn't hesitated in the least to intrepidly jump to Draco's defense when Lucius had shouted at him to get in the car, despite that he was Draco's own father. It had seemed more instinctual than anything, and Lucius took some comfort in the fact that the raven didn't have to think to know that _anyone_ yelling at Draco was unacceptable, no matter whom it was.

When he turned back to look at Draco, Lucius wanted to groan at the hopeful look his son was wearing.

"Well?" Draco prompted, sitting at the edge of his seat.

It was times like this that Lucius regretted spoiling him so rotten when he was a child. He had the means to give his only offspring everything he could ever want, so that's what he'd always done. And now, Draco was asking for Harry Potter. And Lucius didn't have the heart to say no.

"He has one chance, Draco. I'll give him one-" A shocked gasp cut him off, and the sudden look of astonishment and undiluted relief on his son's face was an expression Lucius had never seen on him before. It caught him off guard. "One chance! But after that, if I still don't approve-"

"You will," Draco insisted, his face lighting up like the fourth of July as he knocked the breath out of Lucius in an unexpected and rare embrace. "You'll love him, I promise. You'll _love_ him."

"Yes, well," Lucius considered dispassionately, patting his son's head, "I highly doubt that."

So, okay, there was actually a really good chance that Lucius would completely hate him, but Draco was nothing if not cunning. He'd come this far already, and there was no backing out now. He'd find a way around it.

"You can meet him right now," Draco enthused, getting caught up in the moment and just not thinking about the logistics of his father and Harry meeting for the first time -Well, second, if you counted this morning, which Draco totally didn't- and what repercussions may come of it. "He's probably waiting downstairs. We can-"

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Draco," Lucius cut in before he could go on, checking his watch. "Thanks to your disappearance this morning, I'm about three hours late for a meeting I schedule two months ago, so even though I'm just dying to meet your… boyfriend," he said, making a face at the word, "it'll have to wait until next Friday."

"Oh, uh," Draco stalled. "Okay."

Lucius noticed his hesitation. "What's wrong?"

What was wrong was his father assuming Harry was his boyfriend. Not that Draco had discouraged that presumption in any way, but it might present a bit of a problem down the road.

"Well," Draco improvised, "considering we've managed to sort things out, you have to admit, putting me on Hogwarts' Arrest and taking my keys does seem sort of… superfluous."

Standing, Lucius narrowed his eyes. "Oh, now you're just pushing it."

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

Harry was pacing in the rec room, attempting to explain to his roommates everything that had happened since yesterday without pulling his hair out from sheer anxiety. Draco was still in Dumbledore's office, according to Remus, who had driven him back to school and had miraculously caught Dumbledore before he could speak to Lucius and explained the situation carefully.

Screening his roommates' questions distractedly, Harry kept his eye on the doorway, and when he finally, _finally_ caught a glimpse of that tell-tale white-blonde hair, he bolted for the hallway.

"Draco!" he called, catching the boy mid-turn by the waist and looking behind them as if expecting Lucius to be following after. He wasn't, but when he looked at Draco he was surprised to see that the boy looked… happy. And that just didn't add up. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I'm fine," the blonde said, sounding a little hoarse but smiling nonetheless. His arms snaked around Harry's neck and he slid in close. Had Harry not been diseased in that moment, Draco would've broken a few PDA rules. "I'm great, actually. Perfect."

Harry licked his lips and stared at him in wonderment. "Are you high?"

Draco smiled and didn't let go. "I told him."

"You..?" Harry gaped as Draco grinned. "And he's okay with it?"

"Everything," Draco assured him, "is perfect."

Draco's arms were still looped lazily around his neck, fingers combing idly through his hair as he spoke words that Harry missed because he was too busy concentrating on the way the shirt Draco was wearing hung low to reveal his collarbones, the mesmerizing hollow between them that made his teeth itch.

"Uh," Harry responded articulately, and it just wasn't fair how, even though he knew from the second they met that Draco was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, he kept getting surprised by it. It wasn't fair how he could turn Harry into an utter moron just by looking so completely like himself.

He came back to himself as Draco started leading them to the dorm, forcing his brain to remember how to make sense when he spoke. "Are you sure you're okay?" Harry questioned, feeling oddly relaxed. "I mean, you look like you've been crying."

Standing in front of room sixty-six, Draco's hand rested on the doorknob, not turning it. The other hand reached across the short distance between them to tug on Harry's sleeve in a silent request for it to disappear. And then it did, Harry's legs staggering him forward of their own accord, and Harry couldn't remember giving them permission to do so, but the space separating them was now nonexistent.

"Would you do something for me?"

The red rims below Draco's eyes made his irises light up like liquid mercury, and Harry couldn't say no if he wanted to. "Anything."

And then the perfect, peaceful atmosphere that had clouded up around them froze and shattered into a million pieces when Draco opened the door. There was a flurry of movement that immediately drew their eyes to the couch, and Harry's jaw hit the floor.

"You didn't lock the door?"

"I thought you did!"

Draco slammed the door shut again and stared at the wood incredulously.

"Oh, my god," Harry gaped.

"I know," Draco concurred with disgust. "We're going to have to burn that couch."

"That was Ginny!" the raven exclaimed. "_Ginny's_ the secret girlfriend."

Draco made a face. "You'd think he'd have better taste."

Harry looked back and forth between the dorm and the rec room down the hall. "I've got to tell Ron."

"Ron? Wha-?" Draco tried to ask, coming to realization only after the raven took off down the hallway. "Harry, no!"

"I don't know about you," Harry threw over his shoulder, "but I don't lie to my friends."

Draco scoffed. "Since when is not telling someone something they don't know lying?"

"Since always!" Harry insisted. "It's lying by omission, Draco. He deserves to know."

"It's none of his business, Harry."

"It's his sister!" the raven protested. "Ron!"

"Isn't Blaise your friend, too?" Draco demanded at Harry's heels. "What you're doing is about to get his nose broken."

Harry almost collided with Ron as the redhead exited the rec room, Seamus and Dean behind him. "Whoa, where's the fire?"

"Um," Harry stalled, his bandaged hand running shakily through his hair. "I, uh…" He sighed and hung his head, trying not to think about Blaise's nose. "Shit."

Ron was starting to look concerned. "What?"

Frozen solid, Harry didn't look like he was going to say anything, so Draco sighed and bit the bullet for him. "Blaise is fucking your sister."

The redhead's eyebrows disappeared under his bangs. "He-?" Ron attempted to question, but that's as far as he got before seeing Ginny bolt out of their room and up the stairs two at a time to the girls' dorm, buttoning her uniform shirt as she went. Blaise came out after her, spewing apologies at her back. He didn't have a shirt on.

Draco watched Ron take off toward the dorm before turning to Harry, who was looking at him in accusation. Draco shrugged innocently, "What?"

Harry's jaw clenched before turning to run after Ron. "I'm calling your mom."

When they got back to dorm room sixty-six, Blaise's nose was already bleeding. He wasn't fighting back, trying and failing to keep some distance between them as he tried to explain. Through the open doorway, Draco and Harry watched as Ron threw the other boy into the coffee table.

"All this time, Blaise?" Ron shouted, his face a very unbecoming shade of red. "My fucking sister?"

Harry waited no less than a second in getting across the room to separate them, and Blaise flew passed a stunned Draco on his way out of the room, hand over his nose.

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Blaise was working on becoming one with the sofa in the otherwise empty, darkened rec room when Draco found him sometime past curfew. The TV was on, and Blaise was watching an infomercial with rapt attention even though the sound was muted. His nose was still a little red, but that was the only indication of his fight with Ron.

"Cat's out the bag, huh?" Draco said, leaning on the armrest. Lethargic, Blaise didn't react at all. "Harry just _had_ to open his big honest mouth…"

In the glow of the TV screen, Blaise's head lolled bonelessly to give him an unimpressed look.

"Really, though," Draco said, "The Weaselette?"

"Draco," Blaise sighed, but at least it was something.

"I'm just curious. I mean," he paused to make a face. "Ugh." Blaise turned away from him. "Okay, I'm sorry. Scoot over." Draco plopped down beside him and tapped his foot as he waited for the other boy to start speaking.

"I don't want to talk about it, Draco."

"Oh, good," Draco said in faux-relief. "I'd much rather talk about me."

"You do seem awfully chipper," Blaise noted. "Harry didn't get you high again, did he?"

Draco frowned. "This is what I get for trying to be supportive."

"Well, I know it has to have something to do with Harry."

"My father walked in on me getting out of bed with him this morning," the blonde told him.

Blaise blinked widely. "And you're still alive?"

"Turns out that thing about the truth setting you free isn't total bullshit," Draco muttered as he attempted to snatch the remote off of the other boy's lap. Blaise held it out of arms reach and snorted.

"Wow. You told the truth?" Blaise asked. "You?"

"I am occasionally capable of it, Blaise," Draco said. "But yes, I told him everything. He agreed to meet with us next weekend to evaluate my 'new boyfriend's' character."

Blaise was smirking. "And is _Harry_ aware that he's your boyfriend?"

"Not yet, no," Draco told him. "But I have a plan."

"Oh, god," Blaise groaned.

"Hear me out," Draco insisted. "I'm going to ask Harry to _pretend_ that he's my boyfriend in order to make my father more accepting of my sexual orientation. We'll go to dinner, he'll be a perfect gentleman, and my father will love him."

"There's just one problem with this plan of yours, Draco," Blaise said. "It's your plan. Your plans never actually _work_."

"Not lately, no," Draco agreed. "But the way I see it, it's only a matter of time before Harry and I are an item, anyway. It's brilliant."

"It's stupid."

"You're stupid," Draco glared.

"This is you being supportive?" Blaised asked in disbelief, then sighed and sank further into the sofa. "We were fighting about the maybe-baby thing and it just… turned into what you walked in on."

Draco's eyes widened in realization. "I forgot about that."

"Yeah," Blaise said. "She's almost a month late now."

"What does that…?" Draco started to ask, but stopped when Blaise gave him a significant look. "Oh, sick."

Blaise snorted. "We've been fighting about it for weeks."

"Are you sure it's yours?"

"Draco!"

"Well, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know," Blaise sighed. They sat there in silence for a moment before he spoke up again. "Ron hates me, doesn't he?"

"At the moment," Draco nodded, even though it wasn't really a question. "Sure, he'll be stubborn about it for a while, but I doubt he has the concentration it takes to hold a grudge for longer than a week. Besides, when he wakes up in the morning, he'll forget he was ever mad at _you_ in the first place."

"You're not here to be supportive," Blaise accused. "You did something vicious and now you're in hiding, you coward. What did you do?"

"Let's just say it involved a lot of glue and leave it at that," Draco smirked.

The corners Blaise's lips twitched up minutely, barely there, and he handed Draco the remote. It could've been gratitude, acceptance of a backwards apology, but mostly he was sick of watching the old guy on TV cut shit with knives that would never, ever dull.

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The first thing Harry heard when he woke up the next morning was Ron screaming from the bathroom. It didn't take much to figure out what happened after seeing the redhead with his hands stuck to his face, elbows flying, but his suspicions were confirmed when Seamus looked at him and said, "Draco."

"I swear to god, when that little prick gets back here, I'm running his head through a fucking wall!"

Harry sighed and willed himself to be awake enough for the impending argument. "No, you're not."

"Look at my face!" Ron yelled, and he'd be pointing at it if he had use of his hands. "He's getting what's coming to him, Harry. I promise you. Even if I have to go through you to do it, the bastard's _getting_ what's coming to him."

"C'mon," Harry scoffed. "He didn't do it to be mean. Let's just go see Nurse Pomfrey and she'll-"

"Are you kidding me? That's all he is! He's the _definition_ of mean! That's him in a nutshell," Ron argued, eyes wide and wild. Dean, standing behind him with rubbing alcohol on a cotton ball in an effort to help, ducked a wayward elbow. "He walks around here like a member of the royal family, doing and saying whatever he pleases, insulting whoever he wants to like he can get away with it. And he does!"

"To be fair," Seamus spoke up tentatively, "Draco did warn you the other night that he was going to do this. After you called him a spiteful bastard and… said he was evil."

"He _is_ evil!" the redhead insisted. When Dean pulled at one of his arms to see if the alcohol was helping any, Ron's cheek stretched away from his skull to follow his hand. "Ow!"

"We're gonna need some kind of solvent," Dean lamented.

"And it's a day late because of, you know, what happened to Harry," Seamus continued, looking on the bright side.

"He's never even called me by my first name; it's always 'Weasel' or 'Fire Crotch' or- or 'Ginger Dick.'"

Seamus couldn't help but snort at that one, but covered it with a sudden coughing fit when Ron turned to glare at him.

"Oh, c'mon," Harry said, trying not to smile. "You know he doesn't mean it like that. He's bantering. He only does it because he doesn't know how to be friends with you." Harry shrugged. "It's cute."

Ron gaped like a giant fish, elbow-fins freezing in shock at the sides of his head. "Cute? It's not _cute_. It's mean. You're the only one in the entire fucking _world_ who'd think it's cute! He's a bully, Harry. Always has been. And the reason you're the only person in this school who can't seem to realize it is because you've got such a huge fucking crush on him, you're blinded by anything that could make him seem like he might not be the perfect goddamn angel you think he is!" the redhead ranted and sent Harry a repulsed look. "And the first time I heard you call him that, Harry, I literally vomited in my mouth a little, I was so disgusted."

Arms crossed over his chest, Harry rolled his eyes. "I don't-"

"Please," Ron guffawed. "From the second you saw him, you put him up on a goddamn pedestal so high not even _you_ can reach him. You want to pretend like he's some perfect fucking creature so you can go on acting like he needs you to protect him from the big, bad world." For the first time since he woke up this morning, Ron looked something other than angry. He looked piteous. "Including you."

It took a second for Harry to remember how to speak. "What are you even-"

"You _know_ what I mean," Ron told him. "Don't pretend like you don't. He's not perfect, Harry. Not even close. He's just as messed up as you are, and let me tell you, _that_ is saying something."

Jaw clenched shut, Harry looked away from him. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't. Just," Ron sighed, shaking his head and turning to leave. "Whatever."

Harry didn't follow after him, and when he met the gazes of Seamus and Dean, they were both trying not to look at him. Just like Ron, their expressions were filled with pity.

"He doesn't know what he's talking about," Harry said again, and it didn't sound any more convincing than it had the first time.

Shaking his head, Seamus bit his lip and sighed through his nose. His eyes were huge and overflowing with sympathy. "Oh, honey."

"What?" Harry demanded. "What, you're actually _agreeing_ with him?"

"Maybe…" Dean said carefully. "You, uh. I think you should talk to Draco."

Seamus looked as if someone had suddenly revealed a giant elephant in the room. Anxiety at his impending reaction and guilty at not pointing it out sooner. But there was no surprise there, not on anyone's face. Not even his own.

And suddenly it was like Ron had switched a light on. The room lit up and illuminated the meaning behind things he couldn't really see before. Harry's bed was stripped to just the fitted sheet on the mattress, because Draco was a cover-hog, and _why_ make a bed you never sleep in? His guitar stand was where it stayed beside his bed, but the guitar itself was lying innocently, incriminatingly on Draco's desk. Sometime when Harry wasn't paying attention, it seemed he and Draco had melded into one person.

"Harry?"

Eyes avoiding looking at anything else in the room, including Seamus' concerned, sympathetic face, Harry left, and at first he had no idea where he was going. His feet seemed to, though, so he let them decide.

Ron's words replayed over and over inside his head, an unending loop of insight and truths that Harry had been perfectly content to ignore until now. But now that they were out in the open for everyone to see… Well, you can't unsee something, or unhear it, or press rewind. There was no way to ignore it now.

Because Ron was right. Not about everything, but certainly everything that mattered. He _did_ keep Draco on a pedestal, because there wasn't a doubt in his head that that's where he belonged. Draco _was_ something precious, to him if not to anyone else. But before now, Harry had never questioned why, and Ron was right on target with that one.

Because the past had a nasty habit of repeating itself, and hurting Draco would be the very last thing he ever wanted to do. Since they met, Harry had been stuck going back and forth between keeping his distance and keeping the blonde close, and the reason for both was because Harry couldn't live with the thought of Draco getting hurt. He knew it made him the king of mixed signals, but he didn't know what else to do, couldn't choose between them.

If he got too close, as close as he wanted to be, burrowed underneath his very skin, Draco could end up just like… He could lose him forever. And when people are gone, they don't ever come back.

Keeping his distance, on the other hand, was damn near impossible. Draco was hands-down the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, so much so that it almost hurt to look at him sometimes, and he couldn't go two seconds in his presence without wanting to touch him. Being without him, it felt like he was constantly forgetting something important and he wouldn't feel completely right again until Draco was right there, back where he could see him, touch him.

Whereas being on his own had been second nature to him a handful of months ago, not having Draco within arms-reach felt _wrong_ now. Wrong on a level that made his chest feel heavy.

In the end, what he wound up with was a baffling mixture between the two. He kept Draco far enough away to keep him safe from Harry, but close enough to keep him safe from everything else. Not nearly close enough, not far enough away. Too close, too far away. There was no happy medium.

But of course he _knew_. How could he not? Harry had about disappeared completely inside himself by the time they met, living silently with the ghosts of his past as his only company and resigned to a pathetically superficial existence because of it. And then there was perfect blonde hair and perfect ivory skin wrapped up in a gloriously imperfect boy who, despite both of their best efforts not to, somehow managed to squeeze past all of Harry's baggage and become the central, most sacred part of his life.

And Harry probably would've resented that kind of perfection found in a narcissistic, haughty trust fund baby if it wasn't for the fact that Draco was trying so hard to play that part, and Harry saw him clearer than anything he'd seen since Vegas, shining like a beacon in a world that had become blurry around the edges. He recognized a mask when he saw one, and Draco wore his like a shield.

Until then, Harry didn't know he could _want_ something so much. So much that most days it was all he could do to force himself to just stop thinking about it, so much that he didn't want to ruin it. And he would; Harry knew without a doubt in his mind that if he ever actually got what he wanted, it wouldn't last long. Nothing ever comes for free, and happiness came with a hefty price tag. If he got what he wanted, Harry didn't think he would survive when the world chose it was time to collect. And it always did.

"Harry!" shouted a voice from behind him, startling him.

"Shit," Harry cursed under his breath, something whispering in his ear a chant of, _Chlamydia, Chlamydia, Chlamydia._

The other boy caught up with him right outside of the cafeteria doors. It seemed his feet had taken him to food, but looking through the doorway, Harry did a customary sweep of the room and had no trouble spotting a particular blonde head among the sea of students. Traitorous feet.

Zach took hold of his sleeve as if Harry would try to book it, and the junior's mouth opened in a silent gasp at Harry's injuries. "What the hell is going on?"

"I can't… really talk right now, Zach," Harry said, stilted and really not looking forward to this. He knew they needed to talk, but his head was already too full as it was.

Zach grit his teeth, forcing himself to be patient. "You haven't spoken to me for a _week_, Harry. You won't answer my calls, and now you show up looking like-"

"I know!" the raven broke in, frustration getting the better of him. Harry sighed; how many times did he have to tell this story? "I know. I'll explain later, but right now I've got to-"

Zach shook his head and laughed bitterly at the ceiling, his arms crossing defensively over his chest. "If you say 'Draco,' I swear to god…"

At the mention of Draco's name, Harry turned to consider him for a moment. From the very start of whatever this thing was with Zach, Draco and the junior had shared an obvious animosity that Harry had always brushed off as a weird territorial thing. But now, he had to wonder if Zach had known all along.

Harry sighed. "Look-"

"Are you breaking up with me?" Zach questioned immediately.

Harry wanted to point out the fact that there wasn't a relationship to break from, that Zach knew from the start that a relationship wasn't what this was. But looking at him, all Harry could see was blonde hair, light eyes, and pale skin. It was as if Harry was looking at him for the first time and just now realizing, 'hey, he looks really familiar, don't you think?' And this was hard enough as it was, so all Harry could do was sigh and say, "Uh… yeah."

"Wha-" Zach swallowed, cleared his throat. "Where is this coming from?"

"I'm sorry," Harry told him, meaning it. "I just can't-"

"Don't," Zach circumvented. "You don't get to give me the pity speech, Harry. Just…" He closed his eyes in a wince and ground his teeth. "Just please tell me this isn't about Draco."

And Harry couldn't say anything to that that wasn't a complete lie. He already felt like shit; lying would just make him even more of an asshole. So he kept silent and tried not to look too guilty, but if the look on the junior's face was any indication, it didn't work.

"Oh, my god," Zach said, incredulous and disgusted with him. As a testament to Harry's transparency, though, he didn't look particularly surprised.

"Zach-"

"So, all this time, I was just- what? A stand-in for the real thing?"

Harry honestly didn't know what to say to that. On one hand, the fact that Zach looked kind of a lot like Draco was probably what drew him in to start with, he could admit that, but on the other, it wasn't what kept him coming back. "This was a mistake," Harry said instead, "I'm sorry. I didn't know what I was doing."

Zach scoffed. "Unlike _now_?"

"I was… confused, alright? I never meant to hurt you. I really didn't. But… I can't keep doing this, knowing that… that I…"

The junior's eyes dropped to the floor, biting into the side of his bottom lip in a way that would've been painful for anyone else. "Knowing that you want someone else," he said, saying exactly what Harry couldn't bring himself to.

"I'm not what you want, either."

And suddenly Zach looked so genuine and hurt and pleading that Harry couldn't look at him. "You're exactly what I want."

"No," Harry told him firmly, shaking his head. "No, you thought I could _become_ what you wanted over time. You knew from the beginning that I couldn't be what you want."

"And you think _Draco_ is what you want," Zach stated, barking out a mocking laugh.

"I don't- Maybe?" Harry shook his head, because that was the wrong thing to say. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"Sure you do," Zach scoffed. "You've broken it off with someone before. But then, your last boyfriend _did_ kill himself." He cocked his head in fake inquiry. "Or was that you?"

Harry's knee-jerk reaction to that was usually something violent and sudden, and it took nearly everything in him to restrain that impulse, because even as the cruelty left his lips, Zach's eyes were watering, and Harry was the cause of it. "Stop trying to hurt me."

"I'm just returning the favor, sweetie," Zach practically hissed, his voice mean and cold in a way Harry had never heard it. "Tell me, do you _really_ think he cares about you? Do you think he _loves_ you? Because I can assure you, Harry, there is _a lot_ you don't know about Draco Malfoy."

Harry sighed. "What are you talking about?"

"You still don't have a clue, do you?" Zach smirked. "The paparazzi? Did you think it was just a funny coincidence how they always seemed to know exactly where and when you two could be seen together?"

Harry's brow furrowed. That was about the last thing he'd expected to hear. "What, you think Draco…?"

"Used you to get back at daddy," Zach told, matter of fact. "Think about it, Harry. Take off those rose-colored glasses for a minute and ask yourself, when did Draco suddenly become okay with being seen with you out in public?"

Harry wanted to leave. He wanted to turn around and go back the way he came and forget this conversation ever happened, but the answer to that question made it impossible to move. He remembered the letter that Lucius had sent to Draco, how the blonde had reacted to it.

"Draco wouldn't-" Harry shook his head in denial. Was he actually even considering this bullshit? This was _Draco_ they were talking about. "You didn't see him when the first article came out. He was mortified. There's no way."

"Jesus Christ, open your eyes for once!" Zach shouted, his eyes like fire. "Why do you think he's still in the dorms? He's been playing you from the start!"

"I don't believe you," Harry told him, and winced at the way his voice cracked. "You don't- You don't know him. All of the articles that came out about Cedric and- and my parents…" He shook his head again, and like a trapped animal, slowly started backing away. "He would never do that to me."

The certainty of Harry's words made Zach wilt. "No, Harry," he sighed in frustration. "The Draco you made up in your head would never do that to you. The real Draco, the person he _actually_ is as opposed to the imaginary saint you want to believe he is, never hesitated in causing you pain just so he could stick it to his homophobic father."

"You're lying," the raven said, bracing himself against the nearest wall. "You're just trying to hurt me."

"I'm not," Zach told him, closing the distance between them to put a consoling hand on the raven's shoulder. And for a second Zach actually thought he was coming around, but when Harry's eyes snapped up to meet his they'd turned to stone, and he stepped back in surprise at Harry's expression. It was a clinging, stubborn desperation mixed with a resentment born of denial.

"I don't believe you," Harry said with a hard certainty, jerking out from under the junior's touch.

"Ignorance isn't actually bliss, Harry," Zach insisted. "He's using you! Stop deluding yourself!"

Harry turned his back to Zach's incredulous face in an intention to leave. "You're wrong."

"Harry!"

The raven shook his head. "You have Chlamydia," he said before taking off down the hall, deaf to Zach yelling his name.

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**Author's Note:** Yay! I updated! And it didn't take me a year! I really have to thank you guys for sticking around. You have no idea how much I love you for that. And the feedback for chapter 25 was spectacular. Really, the enthusiasm and emotional responses, even the death threats (you know who you are), I couldn't ask for a better readership. Special thanks go to **FalloutAngel** and **Perylee**, who've been super supportive.


	27. A Boy Like That

**Rating:** Mature.

**Warning:** Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness. Drug-use.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any songs mentioned in this chapter.

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**Previously:**

Lucius caught Draco with his pants down at Remus' apartment, which led to a confession on Draco's part that ended with Lucius making plans to meet Draco's boyfriend. Blaise was also caught with his pants down, but the only thing that led to was a bloody nose courtesy of his girlfriend's big brother, who got his hands super-glued to his face in retaliation. After finally having his eyes opened, Harry broke things off with Zach, who then told Harry about Draco's media scheme.

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**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

**A Boy Like That**

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The day Draco was supposed to meet Lucius for dinner greeted him with breakfast in bed. For the fifth day in a row. When he woke up, there it was, sitting innocently on his nightstand, warm and welcoming and wholly suspicious.

"You're paranoid," Seamus told him later as they walked into chem. "Ever heard the term 'don't look a gift horse in the mouth?'"

"I'm not complaining," Draco objected. "But doesn't it seem kind of sudden? I don't know what's gotten into him. Breakfast in bed, little notes stuck to my locker in the bathroom." He pulled said note out of his pocket and handed it over.

"He's _wooing_ you," Seamus enthused, laughing joyfully as he read and reread the note. "This is grade-A wooing right here," he said, holding the Post-It to his heart dreamily before passing it to Dean.

"Rumor has it," Dean smiled, giving it back to its owner, "Someone saw Harry and Zach fighting in the main building last weekend."

Seamus nodded seriously. "They haven't been seen together since."

"What are you getting at?" Draco questioned as he took his seat.

"Maybe he's seen the light," Seamus idly suggested, leaning against Draco's desk. He hadn't mentioned to Draco what happened between Ron and Harry Sunday morning, but he was thrilled to hear that Harry's responding action to what Ron said to him had been to break it off with Zach. That was progress if he'd ever seen it. "Do you remember the last step in my plan?"

Draco nodded. "Try honesty."

"That's right," Seamus said. "Because nothing can drive you two apart faster than him finding out you've been lying to him. And if he hears about your little media fiasco from someone else -someone like a scorned Zacherias Smith, for example- you're going to wish you'd told him yourself."

"I'll take it under advisement," Draco said blithely. He knew Seamus was right; if Draco told Harry himself, at least he could soften the blow a little, explain why he did it. He could explain how he didn't know about Harry's past when he started the whole thing and never intended to hurt him. But Harry finding out that Draco had used him would kill any chance Draco had with him, no matter who he heard it from, and Draco wanted to postpone that for as long as possible.

"Draco," Seamus sighed.

"I heard you," Draco insisted. "I'll think about it."

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At long last, the time for Harry to meet Lucius had arrived. Draco was a bundled of nerves. He was determined the raven make a good impression, forcing Harry into clothing the blonde had bought specifically for this occasion. Harry, for his part, was just trying to keep up.

"No, not that," Draco said, snatching a tie out of his hands as he went to put it on and producing another. "This one."

"They're the same tie," Harry protested.

"Different fabrics," Draco informed, smacking the raven's hands away with a sweater comb and taking over when he went to tie it wrong. "So… what do you think of arriving separately?"

"I think it's a waste of cab fare," Harry shrugged, trying to loosen the noose a bit when Draco turned back to the mirror. "Why? What are you thinking?"

It wouldn't even have been an issue if Harry's bike hadn't been totaled, if Lucius hadn't given Snape Draco's car keys and then conveniently forgot to give them back once he was off the hook. Considering how much Draco hated all modes of public transportation, Harry thought this was some sort of passive-aggressive way to punish the blonde for missing curfew.

"I just don't want to overwhelm him right off the bat. If I show up before you a least I can ease him into it, you know? Soften him up a little." Draco turned to Harry with his arms fanned out beside him. "Okay, how do I look?"

"Like heaven in cashmere," Harry told him, smiling and pulling him closer. When Draco took the opportunity to fuss with his hair some more, the raven sighed. "Why is it that I have to wear a tie and you don't?"

The thing was going to bother him all night. It was what Draco had referred to as 'the grey on green, silk micro pin-dot' when he told him which one to put on. He might as well have been speaking in tongues.

"Because unlike you, I don't need to impress my father," Draco answered. "And that tie cost fifty-six dollars alone, so you'll wear it and like it."

"Yes, dear," Harry grinned. "How long do I wait?"

"You don't. I leave early. You show up on time or he'll verbally eviscerate you." Draco grabbed his phone from his desk and pointed it threateningly at Harry. "Got it? Do _not_ be late, Harry."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I got it," the raven said, then turned in question when he didn't hear the door close. Draco was standing by the open door, a speculative look on his face. "I am _not_ changing clothes again," Harry preempted firmly.

Draco huffed a little laugh and shook his head. "No, I was just thinking… I never really asked if you were comfortable with all of this."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Harry asked with a nonchalant shrug. Then his face lit up in realization. "Oh, you mean because I'm about to have to sit through dinner with your father, who already hates me and will most likely spend the entire evening noting in detail how I'm not good enough to date his son, who I'm not actually dating? Is that what you meant?"

"That's not funny," Draco told him, eyes intense and unblinking. "If you're having second thoughts, Harry-"

"I'm not," Harry rushed to say before the blonde could have a nervous breakdown, hands up in a peaceable manner and trying desperately not to laugh. "Really, I'm not. I'm honored, if anything."

"Right," Draco scoffed.

"No, I'm serious," Harry insisted. "I'm not exactly what most people would call boyfriend material. You could've picked anyone."

"Maybe you haven't noticed, but I'm not most people," Draco told him. His eyes got a little shifty, embarrassment making him look away. "There isn't anyone else I would've chosen."

Harry grinned. "So, you're saying I'm your ideal boyfriend."

Draco glared at him hotly. "You're a jerk."

"I was kidding," Harry laughed. "Really, even if tonight goes straight to hell and your dad has me assassinated, I can't think of a better way to go than as your arm candy."

"Keep that in mind when he's interrogating you," Draco advised, smiling softly as he stepped through the doorway. "And don't you dare touch your hair," he said in lieu of a goodbye, the door clicking shut behind him.

Keeping one eye on the clock, Harry went to work putting his clothes back on their hangers and into his armoire where they belonged, instead of piled up on his bed where Draco tossed them while looking for an appropriate dress shirt. That's when something metallic caught his eye, one of the shirts Zach had picked out for him, some dark blue number with a lot of unnecessary zippers that looked as if whoever made it had washed the thing in acid and threw razor blades into the dryer with it. Alongside it hung other distressed and frayed pieces that Zach had labeled 'appropriately damaged.'

Unbidden, his last encounter with the junior crept into Harry's mind. He'd been trying his best not to think about it, forget it had ever happened. Tried to convince himself that what Zach said was just a product of hurt. But why did he have to use _that_? There were other ways to succeed in hurting Harry, not to mention more effective. Because if what Zach had said was true then not only had Zach known Draco was using him the whole time, he'd also sat by and let it happen without even hinting about it to Harry. He could've used anything.

But he didn't. He had to bring a plague of doubt upon the raven with one sentence. _'He's using you!'_ Those three words were stuck inside his head, echoing over and over every time the accused blonde was near.

Harry felt guilty even considering it, but he still had to wonder. In the unlikely event that Zach wasn't lying, then what was Draco's aim with this dinner? Why did he want him to meet his father?

"Well," Seamus grinned brilliantly as he and Dean entered the room, "who's this dapper gentleman I see before me?"

Dean smiled at the sight of him. "How on earth did Draco manage to tame your hair?"

"Nice, huh?" Harry tried to grin, striking a half-assed Bond pose. "I feel like I'm going to a funeral."

"Yeah, _yours_," Dean chuckled. "Lucius Malfoy is going to eat you alive."

Noticing Harry's less than enthusiastic demeanor, Seamus gave him an odd look. Exhibiting a subtlety usually nonexistent in the Irishman, Seamus waited a few minutes until Dean went into the bathroom to drop onto the raven's bed and say, "Okay, what's up?"

"Hm? Nothing," Harry said, busying his hands with re-hanging his clothes and keeping his eyes resolutely away from Seamus' prying ones. "Why?"

Seamus sighed. "Look, if you really didn't want to do this-"

"It's not that," Harry cut in, dropping what he was doing and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just… Let me ask you something."

"Shoot," Seamus said, patting the spot next to him in an invitation to sit down. Harry stayed standing, crossing his arms over his chest and trying to think of how to phrase his question without it being too vague or incriminating.

"If Dean used you to get back at someone," Harry ventured, and began to pace around his bed, "and it wound up hurting you in the long run… and he kept it from you for months…"

"He told you?" the other boy questioned as he sat up in attention, his voice low and more serious than Harry had probably ever heard him. Harry's brow wrinkled in confusion, but Seamus must have misinterpreted it because he winced in something like sympathy. "He didn't mean to cause so much trouble, Harry. He didn't know what would happen."

The air went stale. Harry looked away from the other boy's face and set his jaw. "That's what you guys have been keeping secret?"

"It wasn't my place to tell you, Harry," Seamus said, tone apologetic and regretful. "Draco might've waited way too long, but at least he told you himself."

"He didn't."

Seamus blinked. "What?"

"Zach did, but I didn't believe him," Harry said, and it was like a weight settled on his shoulders, heavy and unbearable. The force of it hit him all at once, and both like a release and a way to brace himself against being crushed under that agonizing weight, his hand slammed down onto his desk hard enough to make Seamus jump. "Jesus Christ, was I the only one who didn't know?"

"Shit," Seamus cursed, and hoped to god that Draco didn't turn his phone off.

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

Draco turned his phone off after it rang for the fifth time, his father looking at him in disapproval. Draco was going to kill Harry. His 'soften the blow' plan hadn't exactly been working and every minute that passed without Harry showing up was putting his father into an even fouler mood.

Lucius glanced at his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. "He's late."

"Only by a few minutes," Draco said, even though fifteen could hardly be constituted as a few. "Maybe there was traffic. He'll be here."

"I'm ordering," Lucius announced, raising a hand to flag down their waiter.

Draco grabbed his hand to pull it back down. "He'll _be_ here."

Hand stilled mid-air, Lucius' eyes caught something across the dining room that made his eyebrows go up in surprise and –unused to such a reaction from his father- Draco turned to look as well. And then immediately knocked his chair over in his rush to stand up with an attention-gathering and altogether irrepressible gasp.

"Don't tell me that's…?" Lucius squinted. But it was. It _was_, and if Draco's eyes got any wider they would pop out of his skull entirely. Gone was the meticulously chosen suit Draco had spent hours searching for, and in its place… If hell was clothing, Harry would be wearing it. That's the first description that came to mind to describe the monstrosity clinging to the raven's skin. Hell.

Vaguely, in the back of his mind, the only part that wasn't too busy curling into a fetal position and silently panicking, Draco had to wonder how Harry had managed to get past the door in… in _that_. He was wearing his same old aviator jacket that had survived being run off the road, except that now it looked like it had been _run off the road_. His shirt, Jesus Christ, his shirt had so many 'artful' tears in it he might as well have not been wearing one at all. Draco could see a nipple. The piercings were back and on full display, along with eyeliner, black fingernails, mesh, jeans so tight Harry had to have (oh, god) been poured into them, and for the first time since Draco has known him, the raven's hair was sticking up on _purpose_.

But worst of all, the cherry on top of a seriously fucked up cake, was that Harry was still wearing the tie.

"Oh, my god," Draco breathed, the all-consuming rage he felt like water flooding a dam seeping into his voice little by little, "Harry…?"

But then Harry's lips were on his, crushing and ruthless, cutting off whatever he was going to say, and his head was being angled back by the harsh grip Harry somehow had on his hair. Harry's tongue (holy shit, his _tongue_) was licking his mouth open with all the finesse of an invading army and a passion that made the blonde's knee want to give out from under him. Draco heard someone whimper, realized it was him, and then promptly did it again before salvaging enough willpower and common goddamn sense to push the other boy away.

Once he did, shaking hand held over his mouth, he felt inexplicably dizzy. "Uhh…"

Harry smiled in his face, bright and charming, but not at all like what Draco was used to seeing. It was less of a smile than a show of teeth, with all the pleasantness of a rattlesnake. "Expecting someone else?"

And just like that, the blonde's swelling fury roared back to life. Snarling, Draco had to repress the sudden, overwhelming urge to deck him. A hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present situation, to his father, and if Draco was mad, Lucius was vibrating with the lividity of a thousand fiery suns about to go supernova.

Lucius' voice was a growl. "Harvey-"

"You don't mind if I borrow him for a minute, do you?" Harry grinned, slipping the tips of his fingers into Draco's front pocket indecently. "Lucifer?"

"Just a moment," Draco seethed before stomping away with as much dignity as he could muster while ignoring his father's would-be demands and the stares of nearly every patron in the room. He only stopped walking once they were outside and waited for the door to close behind the raven before rounding on him with a punch to the gut. Harry let out a strangled noise, catching himself on the wall by the door as he tried to catch his breath.

"What the hell _was_ that?" Draco shouted, arm motioning toward the restaurant. "Do you have any idea what I had to go through to get him to meet you? Do you? How the fuck am I going to explain that?"

"Zach told me," Harry huffed, still hunched over but no longer gasping. "He told me what you did."

Draco drew back as if he'd been slapped. "What are you-?"

Quick as lightning, Harry grabbed the collar of his shirt and had him pressed into the wall. "Do not," he growled through gritted teeth, "lie to me."

Trying to keep steady eye-contact with little to no success, Draco pushed at the raven's fists. "I-I don't know what you're-"

Harry knocked him into the wall with a desperate shout of, "Stop _lying_!"

After a moment a desperately floundering for anything to say to make this right again, Draco dropped his head, defeated, and Harry's hands fell away. "Harry…"

"I didn't want to believe him," Harry practically whispered, and his voice –oh, god- his voice sounded as if he'd taken a stake to the heart, devastation written over every word he spoke. "I thought there was no way. No way would you do that to me. Not _you_. The articles that came out about my parents and the fire and… and Cedric…" His voice broke, and when he looked back at Draco, all smudged black eyeliner and bloodshot, the blonde nearly sobbed at the betrayal emanating from those vibrant green eyes. "I trusted you."

"I didn't know-"

"You didn't care!" Harry shouted over him. "I was just a convenient way to get back at your dad. Right from the start."

"You can't honestly believe that," Draco told him, because he was more himself with Harry than with anyone else. Harry was denouncing everything between them and making it ugly, and that felt like a betrayal in its own right.

"What am I suppose to believe?" Harry glared. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

Draco swallowed compulsively and glanced away with a burning shame. "I-"

"You weren't," Harry realized. "Oh, my god, you weren't. You were never going to tell me."

"I didn't want to hurt you!" Draco voiced emphatically. "When those articles started coming out, I-I didn't want you involved in it at all, but it was too late! It was stupid, I know that, but I-" He shook his head and shrugged helplessly. "I was scared."

"I _trusted_ you," Harry repeated, the undiluted betrayal in his voice, on his face, making Draco wince and look away. "I told you things I've never told anyone. I thought- I thought we were _friends_. I thought we were…" He trailed off, dropping his head.

"Harry, I-"

"But we're not," Harry told him, face going hard. "We never were. You made that clear the first time we met."

"I don't just want to be your _friend_," Draco admitted, and though his voice was shaking and utterly vulnerable, his eyes held a resolute honesty.

"You don't know _what_ you want!" Harry yelled, eyes wide with a disbelief that was almost tangible.

"You! I want you! This is what this whole thing has been about, Harry, ever since we met! Jesus Christ, how can you not see that?" Draco was practically pleading now, trying to make the raven understand.

Harry pulled at his hair in frustration. "God, I'm so fucking stupid."

"Harry, please," Draco said, reaching out.

"Don't touch me," Harry told him, almost flinching away from him. He held a hand out in front of him as if to keep him at bay. "Don't even look at me."

"I'm sorry," Draco said, and it was the most sincere apology he'd ever given. "Okay? I'm _sorry_. I never meant for this to happen. I never- I never wanted you to get hurt because of it. Everything just got so out of control."

"Ron was right all along," Harry said quietly, dropping his arm and sighing. "He told me before we met that I should avoid you, and now…" Shaking his head in disappointment, he pulled the tie over his head and tossed it to the ground. "You're not who I thought you were at all."

"Harry…"

"Just stay away from me, okay?" the raven told him, tone void of any emotion but tired as he moved toward the parking lot. "Just stay away."

And then he was gone, leaving this disaster of a night behind him and not looking back. And before Draco even had the time to process what just happened, why it happened, or what it _meant_, the wall behind him the only thing supporting his weight, a hand landed on his shoulder, solid and comforting. He hadn't even noticed the door open.

"Draco?"

"He left," Draco sniffed, finally managing to gather enough strength to pick himself up from the wall and face his father. "He just left."

"I saw," Lucius said, and there was something in his voice that sounded sad as he pulled Draco to his side. "But it's for the best, Draco. You had no business with a boy like that."

"Please," Draco winced. "I don't want to talk about it. I just- Can we just leave?"

"Okay," Lucius sighed, nodding once. "Okay. Come on. You'll stay with me tonight. We'll figure things out in the morning."

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

Draco didn't see Harry again until that Monday at school after hiding from the world in his father's hotel room for the weekend. He'd driven room service borderline insane and Lucius was gone a lot, which he'd been grateful for. They hadn't talked much about what happened, but Draco had managed to convince him that Harry would probably have changed rooms before he got back, and for all he knew, he very well could have. Seeing the raven's things on his side of the room the morning Lucius dropped him off had been a welcome relief.

He'd worried Harry had changed classes when he didn't seen him in Chem, but it turned out the raven was just avoiding him because Harry finally showed his face in Lit, took one look at him and went back to pretending Draco didn't exist.

"I'm sorry," Seamus whispered.

"It's not your fault," Draco sighed. "I should've listened to you."

"Did you explain?"

"I tried," Draco told him. "I don't know how much got through to him."

"He'll come around," Seamus assured him. "Just give him some time."

It was sound advice, and Draco tried not to let it get to him and pay attention to what Wood was saying, Lupin having been called off to the headmaster's office, but after spending the whole class being ignored, his feet led him to Harry as soon as the bell rang.

"Can we talk?" Draco asked him quietly as everyone filtered out of the room. He might as well have not said anything, because Harry was headed toward the door as if Draco wasn't there.

"So, what? You're just going to ignore me now? Pretend I don't exist?" Draco demanded to his back. "I said I was sorry, Harry. What more do you want from me?"

"Nothing!" Harry rounded on him, then cursed at himself for breaking the silent treatment. "Don't you get that? I want _nothing_ from you, I want nothing to _do_ with you," he said before the fire left his voice and it dropped to almost a whisper as he said, "and you're nothing to me."

"Harry-"

"Just leave me alone," Harry told him, shouldering his bag and leaving.

Draco dropped into the nearest desk, head in his hands and wondering if there was anything he could do to fix this or if it was unsalvageable. Someone lowered into the seat in front of him and touched his arm.

"You okay?" Oliver asked, his voice tinged with sympathy.

Draco shook his head. "He hates me."

"I doubt that," Oliver told him. "Want to tell me what happened?"

"I ruined everything," Draco said, and the proceeded to spill his guts right there to a guy he barely knew. He told him just about everything, but Oliver must have misunderstood something because the first words out of his mouth after Draco was finished speaking was, "It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was!" Draco insisted vehemently. "I betrayed him. I used him. He's right; as long as I got what I wanted, I didn't care what happened to him."

"Now, I know _that's_ not true," Oliver smiled. "Sounds to me you just didn't want to admit you were in love with him."

Draco looked up at him in surprise, because that was pretty much the reason behind everything he'd been doing since they'd met. And wasn't that just the cliché of the century; he been stupid in love with Harry Potter since the minute they'd met. "And now he hates me."

"He doesn't hate you," Oliver assured him. "He's hurt. And he wouldn't be so hurt if he didn't love you."

Draco blinked. "What?"

"Think about it, Blondie," Oliver said, leaning back. "He's walking around like you tore his heart out. If he didn't love you, or some approximation thereof, your betrayal wouldn't have the power to cut so deep."

Draco took a minute to reflect on that, but even if it was true, it certainly didn't fix anything. "Why are you helping me?" he asked. "The jealousy thing, and now this? What's in it for you?"

Oliver gave him a half-smile. "Well, I figure that since _my_ stupid little crush is… kind of illegal," he laughed, "the least I could do is help you with yours." He shrugged. "Or, who knows, maybe I'm trying to win you over with my endearing selflessness and understanding nature."

"Don't forget your incredible tact and modesty," Draco replied, a smile somehow finding its way to his face.

"Oh, you like that?" Oliver actually leaned in and waggled his eyebrows. "What about my inspiring athleticism and charming way with words?"

Despite himself, Draco laughed. "Can't forget that."

The sound of someone clearing their throat brought Oliver and Draco's attention toward the door, where professor Lupin stood with his arms crossed over his chest and a suspicious look on his face. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Of course not," Oliver said smoothly, standing. "What's up?"

Remus' eyes went from Draco to Oliver and back again. "We're on lockdown until further notice."

"What?"

"It's mandatory," he explained with a sigh. "One of our students went missing. Nobody's seen or talked to him since he left the school on Thursday."

"Who is it?" Draco asked, and he hated the way Lupin looked at him then. Guarded, like there was something he wanted to say, but wouldn't. He knew about what he did to Harry, of course he did, and Draco could see the disappointment in the man's eyes, no matter how well he was trying to hide it.

"Theodore Nott," Remus said, looking away.

Draco felt trepidation like a finger up his spine as soon as he heard the name.

"Why don't you head off to class, Mr Malfoy. I'm sure it's nothing."

Draco headed straight for the dorm, hoping Harry would be there, because cold shoulder or not, this was something he'd want to know. He went to open the door at the same time someone swung it open and almost fell through.

"Watch what you're-" He stopped him sentence and prayed to whatever deity who was listening that he was imagining things. "What are you doing here?"

"Harry never came to get his stuff from my room," Zach said, motioning toward a duffle bag lying on Harry's bed. "Thought I'd drop it off."

"That's… considerate," Draco said, eyes narrowed and suspicious.

"I thought about burning it, but…" Zach shrugged. Now that Draco was looking, he noticed how unwell the junior looked, like he hadn't slept in days and the sluggish way he was moving only added to that suspicion. His eyes were bloodshot red, like he was either high or he'd been crying. Maybe both. "He won't even talk to me."

Crying then.

"Yeah," Draco sighed, letting the door shut behind him. Like this, leaning into Draco's desk as if a stiff breeze could blow him over, Zach didn't seem like much of a threat. "Me, either."

The junior mumbled something that sounded a lot like an apology, but Draco was convinced he was hearing things. "What?"

Zach shook his head, refusing to repeat himself. "I thought if I just tried hard enough, he'd forget about you."

Draco sighed. "Smith, I really don't want to-"

"But he was never mine," Zach sobbed. "Do you know how much I had to listen to him talk about you? God, he never shut up. It was a never-ending stream of 'Draco thinks' this and 'Draco says' that. What the hell is so great about you, anyway?"

Normal times, that would have set them off on a monumental bitch-fest, but the way Zach had said it, like he was desperately wondering what Draco had that he somehow lacked, well, Draco could relate.

"I told him, you know," Zach said, a smirk trying and failing to make an appearance.

"Yeah," Draco smiled sardonically. "Thanks for that, by the way."

"Like you wouldn't have done the same thing in my shoes," Zach snorted. "He said he didn't believe me. I mean, Jesus Christ, how blind can one person get without being legal handicapped?"

"Well, he believes it now," Draco told him, crossing his arms and wondering why the junior hadn't left already.

"Oh, he believed it then," Zach assured. "He just really didn't _want_ to. He wanted to keep thinking you're the goddamn epitome of perfection."

"You chose a hell of a time to give up," Draco noted. "Now that neither one of us can have him."

"Oh, so you're admitting it now?" Zach scoffed. It lacked any real heat, so Draco didn't reply. "He only ever wanted me for how much I reminded him of _you_. Not exactly a good basis for a healthy relationship." The junior bit his lip with a painful-looking wince and let out a shaky exhale. "Besides," he said, "he was right. I love the idea of what I want him to be a lot more than I love him."

It was like watching the Eiffel Tower fall apart before his very eyes, the way Zach crumpled in on himself, scrubbing tears from his face jerkily as he asked himself, "God, what's wrong with me?"

"It's called pain," Draco told him and shook his head. "It's not a good feeling."

"Is that what it is?" Zach laughed, a raw sound that wasn't humorous at all. "When does it stop?"

Draco dropped onto the sofa and rubbed circles into his temples. "Hell if I know."

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

The apartment was quiet when Sirius walked inside, except for the dull thrumming of Harry's guitar from the guest room. Or Harry's room, he should say, because god knew the raven had barely left it in three days. Remus was set up in the living room, grading papers and half-listening to the news.

"Has he come out of that room at all?"

"'Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out," Remus sighed, "and makes himself an artificial night.'"

"So he's Romeo now? Fucking Malfoys. I knew this would happen," Sirius groused, dropping the bags down onto the coffee table. "Didn't I say this would happen?"

"You called it," Remus nodded, getting up to grab some plates and silverware. "Now what do we do?"

Sirius glanced in the direction of the guest room as Harry hit a particularly foul melody. "Has he said anything?"

"Just what he told us the other night," Remus told him with a shrug as he came back into the room. "He shuts down as soon as I mention Draco."

"I'll talk to him," he said, determined but nonetheless hesitant.

Remus gave him a doubtful look. "Good luck."

Sirius knocked on the bedroom door, and the fact that there wasn't an answer probably said a lot about Harry's willingness to talk, but he came in anyway. Three days was three too many.

Immediately after opening the door, Sirius blinked in surprise. Don't get him wrong; he loved the hell out of the kid, but Harry looked like shit run over twice, all fading scars and bed-head, dark bags under his eyes that spoke of endless nights losing sleep, shirtless like he couldn't be bothered to find one. Enough was enough.

"Hey, kiddo," Sirius said. "You hungry? I picked up some take-out."

Harry shook his head, not looking up from the song he was butchering. "No, thanks."

"C'mon," Sirius wheedled. "I know you're upset, but that's no reason to starve yourself."

"I'm not hungry," the raven told him, expressionless, toneless. Lifeless.

"He's a Malfoy, Harry," Sirius finally sighed. "Everyone knows they can't be trusted."

Finally, Harry's eyes came up from his guitar, giving Sirius his full attention. Sirius took this as encouragement to continue.

"Besides, you deserve a hell of a lot better than an over-privileged, superficial pretty boy," he attempted. "I don't understand what you ever saw in a boy like that. I mean, he's rude, he's mean. I don't think he's ever said a nice word about anybody."

"What the hell do you know?" Harry glared at him. "You never even bothered to get to know him."

Sirius blinked at the sudden fire in Harry's eyes, but this was the most Harry had reacted to anything in three days, so he didn't stop talking. "What's there to know?" he shrugged. "He's his father made over."

Harry opened his mouth as if to argue, but Remus chose that moment to interject. "I think what Sirius is _trying_ to say," Remus said with a pointed look at the man standing beside him, "is that we know it's painful right now, but you're going to get over it. I know it feels like you won't right now, been you will. I mean, look at Draco."

"What?" Harry asked, subject forgotten and snapping his eyes to Remus. "What does that mean?"

Remus could've smacked himself. "Nothing," he backpedaled, shaking his head and heading back into the living room. "Never mind."

"No, tell me," Harry insisted, following behind him. "What about Draco?"

"Forget I ever said anything," Remus told him, brushing it off. "I don't even know for sure if-"

"Remus!"

"He just… seemed awfully close to Oliver Wood when I came back to class this afternoon."

Harry stared at him intensely for a long moment, unblinking and moving his mouth as if in an aborted attempt to speak. Finally he just wilted, eyes dropping to the floor. Remus looked away in guilt.

"You're better off without him, Har," Sirius told him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "I mean, let's be honest. It never would've worked between-"

"Honest?" Harry parroted snidely, smacking his godfather's hand away. "Who are you to preach about _honesty_?"

"What's that suppose to-?"

"Both of you have been lying to me since I got here!" the raven shouted. Sirius and Remus shared a look. "What, you thought I wouldn't figure it out? You sleep in the same bed, for crying out loud! Did you really think you were being subtle?"

Sirius sighed. "Harry-"

"You knew I'd be happy for you. Why's it such a big secret anyway?"

"We didn't want to make anything official," Remus explained, "what with Sirius on the road all the time, his career, and my… Well."

And that was something they almost never talked about, but Harry could recognize whenever the topic came up because it was the only time the room devolved into such unadulterated sadness. It was the reason Remus had to leave his last job, the reason he and Sirius both preached about the importance of protection, why Harry beat the shit out of that douchewagon who wanted to use HIV as an insult to gay people, and apparently… it was also the reason they'd kept this from him.

"That's why you've been keeping it secret?" Harry questioned. "I-I thought you were doing okay?"

"I am okay," Remus assured him. "I am. But Sirius deserves to be with someone who's… healthy. Someone who doesn't have to take a million pills a day just to feel normal."

Harry shot his godfather an icy look. "Sirius-"

"Hey, don't you give me that look," Sirius glared. "This wasn't _my_ idea."

"Sirius," Remus warned.

"Well, it wasn't," Sirius insisted. "If it was up to me we'd be married by now."

The way Remus cringed at that spoke of countless painful arguments. "We've been over this a hundred times," he said. "I told you-"

"That doesn't mean I agree with it," Sirius sighed, frustrated. "Don't I get to have a say in who I get to spend my life with? God, Remy, why do you think I'm here?"

Whatever response Remus had to that was interrupted by his cell ringing from the coffee table next to the abandoned take-out. Seeing this as an opportunity to exit this conversation, Remus picked it up and headed toward the kitchen with it. "Hello?"

Sirius wilted into the sofa lifelessly, staring at here Remus had stood.

"If you love him and he loves you," Harry told him, "nothing else should matter."

Sirius shook his head. "Nothing is ever that simple, kiddo."

Not a second later, Remus reentered the room looking ashen.

"What's wrong?" Harry questioned.

"Theodore Nott was found this morning," he said.

Sirius' eyebrows knitted in confusion. "Is he okay?"

Remus shook his head, still staring at his phone. "He's dead."

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

**Author's Note:** Short chapter compared to the others, sorry. And I know, I know, Draco and Harry have been through enough already. Why can't they just be together already? Just when things started looking up, _this_ happens? What's the big idea? Do you get off on torturing people, authoress? Well… a little, yes, but you guys had to have known this was coming. It's one of the last major things standing between them and true lurve. Sorry, guys, it had to happen.

Anyway, I could really use your opinion on that dinner scene. The whole chapter in general, really. I rewrote it about a dozen times, but I still feel like I'm missing something. What do you think?


	28. Red Lights

**Rating:** Mature.

**Warning:** Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness. Drug-use. Torture. Violence.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any songs mentioned in this chapter.

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**Previously:**

On the eve of Harry and Draco's dinner date with Lucius, Seamus unwittingly let the cat out of the bag. Devastated, Harry sabotaged the dinner and put an end to whatever relationship they had. Draco and Zach bonded over mutual pain and Theodore Nott went missing, only to be found later, dead.

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**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

**Red Lights**

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"Students and faculty, if I could please have your attention?" Dumbledore requested, standing empirically in front of the faculty tables. "As I'm sure many of you already know, and I say this with great regret, Theodore Nott was found dead late Monday night."

The death of Theo Nott had spread like a forest fire around Hogwarts. Rumors of him being involved in a multitude of scenarios (a car-jacking, a bank robbery, a meth lab explosion, a drive-by shooting) circulated the hallways, getting more and more ridiculous as time went on. As it usually is, the truth was far less exciting. He was dropped off outside of the ER and pronounced dead on arrival. The toxicology report tested positive for methamphetamine.

Harry had been feeling eyes on him since he walked into the room, but as Dumbledore's speech continued, they grew more obvious. If he concentrated, he could make out his name being said among the students' whispered conversations.

"People are saying you killed him," Seamus whispered from across the table.

Harry felt his stomach turn. "What?"

"Even though you were in the hospital that night," the Irishman said. "They think you shot him up with drugs to make it seem like an accident."

His healing injuries from when he was ran off the road probably didn't help that theory at all. It was an intriguing story, Harry mused. A new student comes to Hogwarts senior year, the press outs him as a murderer who covers his crimes via intravenous injection, and then he gets into a fight with the school bully and kills him the same way he killed his dead boyfriend. Not particularly imaginative, but they could've done worse.

"That's ludicrous," Draco scoffed.

"I know, but after everyone found out about, you know, you and Cedric…" Seamus shrugged, uncomfortable. "I doubt anyone actually believes it, but they love to talk about it."

"I should've said something," Harry lamented. "I knew he had a drug problem. Hell, I found that out _months_ ago, but I never told anyone."

"You can't blame yourself for this, Harry," Dean said, keeping his voice low. "He made his own mistakes."

Harry shook his head, moving his uneaten food around his plate. "That doesn't mean I couldn't have prevented it."

"-and with that being said," Dumbledore concluded, "let us all keep young Theodore and his family in our thoughts and our prayers."

"This is getting depressing," Seamus stated. "Now that we're not on lockdown anymore, I call for a karaoke night. Take everyone's minds off of this."

Harry stood up with his tray, walking off without a word and ignorant to the concerned stares that followed after him. His vacated seat was soon taken by a tired-looking Oliver Wood. "Sad, isn't it? Can't say I liked the kid, but nobody deserves that."

"Be honored, Oliver," Seamus told him. "You are officially invited to dorm sixty-six's first annual karaoke night."

"No, he's not," Draco objected.

"It'll be at Ampersand tomorrow night," Seamus continued, ignoring him. "We'll carpool."

"Count me in," Oliver smiled, then aimed a faux-offended look at Draco as he stood up again. "And now I'm leaving before I get uninvited."

"What are you thinking?" Draco asked with a disgruntled look, watching the TA as he walked away. "You know what happened the last time I tried making Harry jealous."

Seamus shook his head. "This is different. It's not like I'm telling you to make out right in front of him. You'll just arrive together."

Draco rolled his eyes. "It's not going to work."

"Look," Seamus said patiently, threading his fingers together like a therapist. "Harry needs to realize he still has feelings for you and I can't think of a better way to make that happen than for him to see you with someone else."

Draco really didn't want to reintroduce jealousy into his interactions with Harry, but the raven hadn't so much as looked in his direction in three days. He sighed. "This is just asking for trouble."

"Leave it to the expert, okay?" Seamus told him, pointing at himself. Next to him, Dean rolled his eyes. "I know what I'm doing."

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

When an unfamiliar ringtone sounded in Harry's pocket as he headed for the dorms after classes had ended, he knew he'd accidentally taken Sirius' phone again instead of his own. It was the third time this had happened in the last month, so Harry answered it without thinking. It was probably Sirius looking for it, anyway.

"Hello?"

"_Sirius? Sirius, man, you've got to help me. I'm in some deep shit here. I had- Look, I had this kid working for me and… and. Just call me back later on a land-line, okay? It's not safe. This number, okay? Please, Sirius. Please call me back. I know how shitty I've been to you, but I- I'm in serious trouble, man. It's important."_

"Peter? Peter, wait! Don't hang-" It was too late. "Damn it."

Harry burst into dorm room number sixty-six calling Seamus' name, but stopped dead in the doorway when he saw the only person in the dorm was Draco, lying on top of his bed with his chemistry textbook open in from of him. He was giving Harry a look that questioned his mental health.

The raven took a deep breath, trying to calm down a little. He closed the door and stepped further into the room, looking toward the bathroom. He really didn't want to talk to Draco, but it looked like he didn't have a choice. "Is Seamus here?"

"No," Draco answered, sitting up on his mattress. "Why? What's wrong?"

"I need to borrow his car," Harry said, which wasn't an answer but wasn't a lie, either. He stripped out of his uniform shirt on the way to his dresser and pulled a drawer open, grabbing the first shirt he saw and pulling it over his head. He didn't bother with his pants. "Do you know where he is?"

Draco shrugged, trying to look uninterested. "Somewhere with Dean."

Harry slipped into his jacket, trying to think of where his roommates could be. He supposed this was the downside of alienating yourself from the rest of the world. He sighed, mourning the loss of his bike. He just really didn't want to have to take a cab to find Peter. Considering what happened last time, there was a good chance he'd have to make a quick exit, especially with what he had in mind.

"You could take _my_ car," Draco idly suggested, flipping over a glossy page of his textbook casually like there was nothing remotely screwy about what he'd just said.

And Harry was suddenly mad at him, that he could just sit there and act like nothing had changed. "No, thanks."

"Okay," the blonde shrugged. "It sounded like an emergency, but whatever." He flipped another page, eyes on the words in front of him. "Forget I offered."

Harry cursed, mentally arguing with himself. "I'm not riding in a car with you."

"I didn't say I wanted to go," Draco replied easily. "If you promise to bring it back in one piece, I'll let you borrow it Draco-free."

Harry hesitated for another few seconds, knowing it was a bad idea. He sighed, "Fine."

Draco dug into his pocket for his keys, tossing them to Harry, who caught them and continued to stand there awkwardly. Draco went back to his book. "You're welcome."

Less then a half an hour later, Harry was headed back to the car after his first destination, purchases in hand. He slung the bag onto the floorboard of the passenger seat and jumped with a startled yelp when a glance in the rearview mirror showed a person sitting behind him.

"Always check the back seat," a smug-looking Draco told him, climbing into the front seat. "Don't you watch scary movies?"

"How did you-?" Harry gaped, trying to steady his heartbeat. "Were you back there this entire time?"

"Indeed, I was," Draco smirked, picking up the bag lying at his feet and looking inside. "This was your big emergency? A Home Depo run?"

Harry glared, slamming the door shut. "I thought we had a deal."

Draco raised an incredulous eyebrow. "You must not know me, like, at all."

"That's for damn sure," the raven muttered as he pulled out of the parking lot. Draco ignored him.

"Trash bags, zip-ties, lighter fluid, and duct tape?" the blonde questioned. "Where the hell are we going? A mafia convention?"

Harry stared straight at the road in front of him and didn't answer.

"Fine, don't tell me," Draco huffed, leaning back in his seat. "I don't care, anyway."

Their stubborn silence ended when Harry pulled into the parking lot of a motel on Rosen Street, and Draco turned to glare at him.

"A motel?" he asked incredulously. "What, you didn't learn the first time?"

Harry got out of the car and didn't look at him, didn't answer him. "I should've taken you back to Hogwarts."

At the front desk, a guy maybe three or four years their senior was leaning back in his chair, feet planted on the desk in front of him and fiddling with his cell phone, probably texting someone. He had giant horn-rimmed glasses that he probably thought were ironic and a too-thin-to-be-a-soul-patch soul patch. As if that wasn't enough, he also had a rainbow beanie over an ash-blonde ponytail, and a T-shirt that read 'SAVE THE MERMAIDS'.

"Hey, can you tell me what room Peter Pettigrew is staying in?" Harry asked, leaning forward. The guy didn't even look up from his phone.

"I can't give out that kind of information," he said, wholly apathetic.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the guy in irritation. "It's kind of an emergency."

"Yeah?" the guy replied, borderline sarcasm. "Then why don't you call him and get _him_ to tell you."

"He doesn't have a cell phone," the raven told him.

The guy at the desk finally looked at Harry, giving him an up-and-down look that was both unimpressed and suspicious. "Who doesn't own a cell phone?"

As he said this, his eyes caught sight of Draco, eyes widening just a fraction in apparent interest. Harry glared harder and leaned toward him threateningly. "Listen here, you twiggy little-"

"Okay, that's enough," Draco interrupted, pulling Harry back by the collar of his shirt before the situation got a chance to escalate. "You go wait in the car." Glaring, Harry opened his mouth to argue, but hesitated when Draco gave him a significant look. "_Now_."

The raven debated with himself for a moment before sighing and walking back the way they'd come in. He didn't know what Draco was up to, but at this point, it certainly couldn't hurt. He leaned stubbornly against the wall by the door and refused to leave.

Draco turned back to the desk clerk. "I'm so sorry about my cousin," he apologized.

Said desk clerk looked back and forth between the two. "Cousin?"

"Yeah," Draco sighed, and threw a manufactured sour look over his shoulder at Harry. "I'm sure you have enough problems working in a place like this. It must be dangerous."

"Uhh…" the guy stalled, and almost tipped his chair over backwards trying to get his feet off of the desk. Behind him, Draco heard Harry snort. Flipping his hair out of his eyes, Desk Guy crossed his arms over the desk and leaned toward Draco pseudo-smoothly. "Sometimes. Yeah, it can get pretty… pretty dangerous."

Draco restrained the sudden urge to laugh in his face and nodded understandingly. "So I know you have a reason to be suspicious, but the man we're looking for is our uncle and he was in the hospital not too long ago. We just want to make sure he's okay."

Desk Guy readjusted his glasses nervously. "What's his, uh- What was his name again?"

"Peter Pettigrew," Draco told him. As the guy began looking for it, Draco leaned in even closer. "What about you? What's your name?"

The desk clerk actually blushed, but by some miracle managed not to stutter saying, "Andrew."

"I'm Draco," he smiled, and then bit his lip. "Listen, Andrew, I would really appreciate it. I've been so worried about him."

"About who?" Andrew the Desk Guy asked, eyes stuck on Draco's mouth. Draco blinked in disbelief, because really? "Oh! Yeah, his van pulled out of the lot a while ago. If you want, you could… wait here for him to get back."

"I have a better idea," Draco smiled. "How about you give me that number and I can come back," he said, and gestured over his shoulder at Harry, "after dropping my cousin over there off at home?"

"That's, um." Andrew cleared his throat, nodding over and over. "Room… 101."

"Thanks," Draco told him, flirty demeanor gone as he walked away, Harry trailing behind him and shaking his head.

"That was disgusting," the raven told him.

"You know, he wasn't really all that bad-looking," Draco mused, leaning against the hood of his car as he waited for Harry to grab his bag of suspicious purchases.

The raven shot him a disgusted look. "Are you kidding?"

"Yes," Draco laughed, "I am. But it worked, didn't it?"

Walking upstairs, Harry followed the numbers on the doors until they reached room 101. "You couldn't have tried something else? Like, _anything_ else?"

"Oh, because your idea was so much better?" Draco scoffed, watching as Harry worked the door open. "What exactly are we doing here?"

Once the raven had let them inside, Draco wrinkled his nose at the state the room was in. He knew it was a motel, but damn. You'd think a man Peter's age would've learned to pick up after himself.

Harry closed the door behind them, locking it and sitting down at the little scratched-up coffee table by the window. He stared through a crack in the blinds. "Waiting."

It wasn't ten minutes later that they heard the door unlocking, and Harry ushered them both into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind them. The raven held his ear against the door, listening.

"What the hell are we doing?" Draco whispered, and then jumped in surprise when Harry put a hand over his mouth with an urgent, "Shh!"

There was a moment of perfect silence before the TV was turned on, followed by two thumps on the floor like someone kicking their shoes off. That was apparently the cue Harry'd been waiting for to quietly pull out a small, clear, plastic trash bag and take off his belt. He gave the rest to Draco and then… chaos.

Harry was out of the bathroom before Draco had even thought of what he was about to do with that bag. Within a span of seconds, there was a shouted curse from Peter, a thump, and then gasping, and when Draco came into the room, he could see why.

The bag was over Peter's head and he was struggling on his knees at the foot of the bed, hands clawing at the belt Harry was fastening around his neck, cutting off his air supply. When the raven was finished, he wasted no time. Fast, he took the bag back from Draco, got out the zip-ties, threw some to Draco, and said, "Get his feet," because if the blonde was going to be there, he might as well help.

Peter –still thrashing around on the floor- tried to kick Harry as he approached, but he was too panicked to land a blow. The raven somehow managed to get both hands tied without getting thrown back.

Draco took one look at Peter's yellowish socks and snarled, "Why do I have to get his feet?"

Single-minded and impatient, Harry snatched the zip-ties from him and did it himself, getting a painful-looking kick to his shoulder and chest before actually succeeding. Tied-up and floundering backwards, Peter brought his hands up and tore the plastic bag open, gasping like a fish out of water and collapsing onto the floor.

"What do you know?" Harry mused, rubbing at his shoulder as he turned the volume of the TV up loud. Nosey neighbors were the last thing Harry wanted to deal with. "They do go for the belt first."

"Help!" Peter hollered as if enlivened by the raven's voice. "Help-!"

"Oh, no," Harry told him, stretching out a length of duct tape and slapping it over the man's mouth. He pulled Peter up by the collar of his shirt so that he was sitting. "No, you don't get to play the victim. Considering the last time I tried talking to you ended with me getting hit by a car, we'll keep it nice and quiet this time, okay?"

Peter's eyes were squeezed shut, but at least he stopped yelling, muffled as it was beneath the duct tape. He was red-faced and breathing fast through his nose.

One more zip-tie connected Peter's hands and feet, making sure he couldn't reach his mouth, and Harry sat down a few feet in front of him. "You're going to answer some questions for me, alright?"

Draco crossed his arms and waited, leaning on the wall next to the motel room's open closet, but Peter didn't move. "Nod," he advised the older man. After a moment, Peter did so.

"Good," Harry said, and jumped straight to the point. "Are you working for Tom Riddle?"

"Nod," Draco told him again when the man hesitated. Peter didn't move at all. "Come on, don't make him get the lighter fluid."

Peter's eyes flew to the bag sitting innocently at Harry's feet. After a second or two, he nodded.

"Are you dealing?" the raven asked, and Peter nodded again. "Meth?"

The man's eyes squeezed shut, but again, he nodded. He knew exactly where this was going, but this time, he couldn't run away.

"The meth Sirius got locked up for?" Harry questioned, and glared when Peter started shaking his head back and forth, eyes wide and desperate, words muffled beyond distinction under the duct tape. "Don't lie to me," Harry told him, and then sighed when the man kept denying it. "Draco, would you please hand me your lighter?"

The second Harry reached into the bag, Peter attempted to shout. There were tears in his eyes.

"I'll ask you again, Peter," Harry said, patient as a coiled rattlesnake ready to strike. "Did you let Sirius take the fall for you?"

The first tear slid down Peter's cheek and pooled before slipping over the duct tape. He clamped his eyes shut, but slowly, he started nodding, breathing through his nose in loud sniffs that would've been sobs had he had full use of his mouth.

Harry just dropped his head to the floor, hands fisted into the dirty carpet. "Next question, and this is a big one," he said, and then paused. He made sure Peter was looking at him before continuing. "Right before Cedric died-"

But that was apparently all Peter could take, because he was suddenly yelling, smothered and adamant.

Harry stood up and started pacing by the foot of the bed in front of Peter, like he was restraining himself from doing anything else. "Peter, come on! They found meth in his system! You can't tell me you had nothing to do with that!" Peter just kept shaking his head, repeating words they couldn't make out. Harry crouched down suddenly, making Peter cringe in anticipation, and ripped the tape from his mouth. "Answer the question!" he yelled over Peter's shout of surprise and the television blaring in the background.

"I didn't! I swear to god, I didn't!"

"Didn't what?" Draco asked. "Didn't kill him or didn't mean to?"

"Both!" Peter shouted. "Neither! Harry, buddy, please. You gotta believe me. You know me! You _know_ I'd never do that!"

"I think you're lying to me," Harry told him, eye-to-eye with him on one knee and leaning forward.

"I didn't kill that kid!" Peter yelled, going from pleading to angry in a matter of seconds. "You want to blame somebody for that, then blame yourself! I gave it to him, okay? But he wanted it!" He paused for a moment to catch his breath before catching Harry's eyes again. "And I know for a fact that it wasn't the first time, either."

Harry's stony expression didn't change whatsoever, not in the slightest. Draco had a feeling the raven never should've removed the duct tape.

"Oh, yeah. He told me all about the fun you guys used to have. That poor kid," Peter clicked his tongue in sympathy. "Honor roll quarterback didn't stand a chance with you. Last time I saw him, he was a regular arm-picker. You really broke him."

Harry sat back on his heels, listening without protest. Draco was watching him closely, worriedly. Considering the topic, a calm, neutral Harry could never be a good thing and Draco knew that all of that fury raging inside of the raven at that moment was quietly brewing right under the surface, building itself up with every word Peter was throwing at him, using it as fuel. This was the calm before the storm, and Peter obviously didn't know Harry well enough to know when to shut the fuck up. Because Harry would do something he'd regret the second he reached his breaking point, and Draco didn't want the situation escalating any more than it already had.

Or maybe he was wrong. Maybe Harry was taking everything Peter was throwing him about his past with Cedric because the raven thought he deserved it. Draco wouldn't put it passed him. Harry was a grade-A martyr, after all. Or maybe it was a combination of both.

Peter's gaze jumped to where Draco was watching Harry in concern, and he smiled. "What he never told you?"

"Don't talk to him," Harry said, voice sub-zero and glaring, green eyes like shards of stained-glass.

"This is your new toy, right, Harry? Cedric 2.0?" he chuckled, then glanced back up to Draco, hands attempting to gesture at Harry through his restraints. "Yeah, Harry here was the first to ever shoot him up."

"I'm guessing he wasn't the last, though," Draco snarled.

The raven gave him a deep, soul-piercing look. "Is that right, Peter?"

"No, I-" Peter shook his head. "I never-"

"He was phobic of needles," Harry told him, placid again as he stood up and fished the bag up from the floor. "He could never do it himself."

Peter glared. "You would know."

"Yeah," Harry nodded, accepting it. "But _I_ never gave him enough to kill him." He reached into the bag and pulled out the bottle of lighter fluid, popping it open and moving closer. "Now tell me truth."

"You can't do this," Peter claimed, trying and failing to sound sure. "You don't have it in you, Harry. This isn't you."

And suddenly Harry's face was shadowed in a way that was giving Draco goose bumps. It was frightening, and for the first time since Harry tied this man up, Draco was suddenly scared of where this was going.

"You think you know me?" Harry asked quietly. "If it wasn't for you, Sirius wouldn't have been arrested," he said. "If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have had to grow up in that fucking _hell-hole_ in Surrey. Cedric would still be alive instead rotting in the goddamn ground somewhere. Do you have any idea how much you've fucked up my life? Do you?" And with that, he up-ended the bottle and squeezed.

"Oh, god," Peter whimpered as the chemical smell overwhelmed him, soaking his hair and the fumes stinging the hell out of his eyes. Harry kept pouring until the man's head was covered with it. Draco reached into his coat and grabbed a cigarette, lighting it and walking closer. He leaned down and blew the smoke in the man's face tauntingly. "Oh, fuck."

"I don't have it in me?" Harry scoffed, closing the cap on the bottle and throwing it at him. "You've _made_ me. I am who I am today _because_ of you, because of what you've done. Don't you get that? You're lucky I didn't set you on fire the second you walked in."

"I'm sorry," Peter coughed, spitting as the fluid got into his mouth. "I'm sorry!"

"I don't want to hear you're sorry," Harry said, jaw clenched. "I already knew that. I want to know about Cedric."

"It was only a quarter gram! Who the _fuck_ ODs on a fucking quarter gram?" Peter scoffed at the ceiling. "I never- I never thought he would-"

Harry's eyes squeezed shut once before they opened again, biting his lip. "What else was he on when you gave it to him?"

Peter shook his head. "I don't know," he said on a sigh.

"You know that's negligent homicide, don't you?" Draco stated, and stood up again. Harry took the lit cigarette from his hand and held it out in front of him threateningly, between him and Peter.

"Last question," the raven told him, and waited until Peter met his eyes again. "Did you kill my parents?"

"No," Peter answered immediately in a whisper, and he looked directly at Harry when he said it, like he wanted the raven to see he was telling the truth. "No, Harry. Not that! That wasn't my fault, Harry. That was- That was an accident!"

"You seem to be the cause of a lot of accidents," Draco noted, and hoped it wouldn't make him an accessory to murder as he tossed Harry his lighter.

"No! I swear on my life, Harry, I didn't do that! I did _not_ do that!"

"Was it Riddle?" Harry asked calmly, flicking the lighter off and on, again and again.

"Oh, fuck," Peter breathed. "Harry, no, please! I don't know what happened with your folks, Harry! I don't! Your dad was one of my best friends! I'd never do that, I swear to god!"

"Is that the truth?" Harry questioned. "Or just your version of it?"

"It's the truth! It's the truth, I swear!" Peter was crying by this point, actual tears pouring from his eyes from a combination of fear and the lighter fluid soaking into his skin.

"It'd be kind of ironic if you were lying, though, wouldn't it?" Harry mused, staring at the lighter going on and off in his hand as if in some kind of trance. "If you die in a fire set by the kid whose parents' you killed in a fire? It's very poetic, don't you think?"

"I didn't…" Peter sobbed. "I swear to god…"

Harry watched him for a long moment before backing off with a sigh. "Nott's dead," he told him, running a hand through his hair. Everything in the tiny room smelled flammable.

"I know," Peter sniffed. "I know, Harry, but that wasn't me. I didn't kill him."

Draco lifted an eyebrow. "Why would you assume he was murdered?"

"He was smoking up his supply," Peter told them.

"He's not the only one," Draco murmured. The man was the visual definition of a meth addict. Scabbed mouth, terrifying teeth, skinny as a goddamn rail; Peter was the living dead.

"I had to tell him _something_," the man continued. And the fact that he would hire a kid to pedal meth and then sell him out to a man as dangerous as Tom Riddle was a brand new low.

"Riddle?" Harry inquired.

"Riddle didn't know anything about Nott until… Look, I was running short, so I started cooking. I thought it'd sell faster if I had some younger guys working for me," Peter explained, then sobbed with his chin sitting on his chest. "I didn't- I didn't think he'd hurt a kid, but-" He looked up at then, the picture of misery and guilt. "I never meant for anyone to get hurt."

"But they _did_, Peter," Harry told him, emphatic and angry. He scoffed. "Two people are _dead_ because of you. Maybe more. I should pick up that phone right now and turn your pitiful ass into the-"

"No!" Peter shouted suddenly, practically shaking. "Harry, man, you can't do that! If Riddle knew where I was… You can't call the cops. He's got every one of them under his thumb. He'll- He'll find me and-"

Peter cut himself off and started crying anew, looking terrified and resigned at the same time. This was a man with absolutely nothing left to lose but his very life.

"But I won't," Harry told him. "I'm going to give you a chance to do the right thing, Peter, and you can't do that if I let Riddle kill you. But I swear, if you don't do what I'm about to tell you, I will do whatever it takes to track you down and hand you over to him personally."

Peter shook his head. "I can't go to prison."

"Would you rather be dead?" the raven asked. "The way I see it, prison's about the safest place you could be right now."

Harry stood up and walked over to the closet, picking up the two beat-up suitcases Peter had stashed in the closet and throwing them onto the bed. He leaned down to speak to Peter face-to-face. "You're going to get in your van and you're going to drive straight to Surrey. You're going to walk into that station and tell them every detail about what you've done. You're going to tell them about Cedric, about Sirius, about Riddle, about Nott; everything you know, do you hear me?"

"Okay," Peter breathed, and he looked so relieved to not be in control of his own fate that Draco almost felt sorry for him. "Yeah, okay."

Harry searched his face for a long moment before reaching into his jacket and pulling out a pocketknife. He cut the ties on Peter's hands and feet, and with that, Harry left, leaving the door open behind him.

Peter crumbled in on himself, breathing steadily and sniffing, rubbing at his eyes with the backs of his hands.

"I wouldn't go near any open flames, if I were you," Draco smirked before following after him.

It had gotten dark while they were inside room 101, and Harry was almost to the car when Draco caught up with him. "So, what the hell was _that_ about?" the blonde questioned. Harry looked at him, uncomprehending. "The bag and belt? Your whole member of the mob act?"

"I saw that in a movie once," Harry told him, tossing him his car keys. "Didn't really expect it to work."

Draco tossed them back and took shotgun. "And the lighter fluid?"

"It was gasoline in the movie," Harry said, snapping his seatbelt. He didn't start the car. Head hung, Harry sighed. "I'm not a drug addict."

Draco gave him a long look, trying to decide what to say. What Peter had told him couldn't be a complete lie, but that didn't make Harry a drug addict and it certainly didn't make him responsible for Cedric's death. "I never said you were," Draco told him.

"We smoked it once together, just to see what it was like, just to try it. And then he wanted to see what it was like to shoot up, but he couldn't do it without me." Harry swallowed compulsively, clenching his hands on the steering wheel. "It was stupid and dangerous and… and I wish it never happened. But I never stopped him. I never told anyone."

Draco sighed, turning to face him. "You can't keep blaming yourself for the choices that other people make, Harry. Cedric was his own person and what happened –just like what happened to Nott- that was on _him_."

"If it wasn't for me-"

"He would've ended up strung out anyway," Draco argued before Harry could continue. Cedric wasn't a topic Draco normally felt comfortable talking about, and he might be overstepping some boundaries, but this wasn't about Cedric to him. This was about Harry.

"You don't know that," Harry denied. "He wasn't like that before he got with me."

Draco shook his head, wondering why the boy beside him felt the need to take responsibility for everyone he loved. "Has it ever occurred to you that that was the reason he was with you in the first place?" the blonde suggested. Harry blinked at him silently, momentarily speechless. Draco had a feeling he'd just changed everything about Harry and Cedric's relationship. "I mean- I mean, I could be wrong. It's just-"

Harry leaned back in his seat, brow wrinkled as he tried to digest that. He started the car. "You might be right."

The thought that their entire relationship might have been based on Cedric's fascination with a society his upper-middle class, picket-fenced world opposed had Harry's head spinning. Because it was true that Cedric was attracted to it; Harry knew that when Cedric jumped at the opportunity to smoke weed for the first time. He was the clean-cut quarterback who had never been in trouble in his whole life and he was curious. He'd always had a temptation to be bad that simultaneously excited and scared him.

But was that the reason he had taken to Harry? Because Harry represented the kind of trouble he was so excited to be a part of? Harry had been the outcast when they'd met, and Harry had always thought that Cedric saw passed that, the only one with the ability to see that there was more to him than that, but maybe he wasn't. Maybe that was all he saw.

And if that was true, maybe Harry was just the catalyst, Cedric's way into that world. Maybe it really was only a matter of time. Maybe…

Maybe it wasn't his fault.

Draco turning on the radio brought Harry out of his thoughts. There was no use dwelling on the possibilities. Cedric was gone and there was nothing that could change that. But still, Harry couldn't help but let his thoughts stray to Draco.

Was this thing with Draco just a repeat of what happened with Cedric? Did Draco, poster-boy for the young and beautiful and rich, look at him and see the exciting, danger-filled world that Cedric saw? But even as he thought it, Harry knew it wasn't true. Draco thought his image was ridiculous and misleading. He didn't want Harry to have anything to do with that world because…

Well, because Draco honestly cared about him.

'I fought you for so long, I should've let you in

Oh, how we regret those things we do'

Symmetry in song lyrics was something Harry couldn't handle right now, and the raven glared at the radio as he pulled to a stop in front of a red light. As Harry had made a habit of taking back roads whenever possible, there were no other cars around, but that never stopped him from looking in the rearview and expecting to see a nondescript black sedan.

'And all I was trying to do was save my own skin

But so were-'

He turned the radio off, ignoring the dirty look Draco gave him for it and breathing a sigh. "God, you're sitting right here and _still_ miss you," Harry said aloud.

It was the worst thing he could do. Here he was, after days of trying to cut Draco out of his life, spilling his guts to him. He was setting himself up to get hurt, he knew this, and yet… Jesus, Harry never wanted him to leave.

"Harry, listen to me," Draco told him, turning so they were facing each other. "Because this is the last time I'm going to apologize for this."

"I already heard it."

"Would you just listen?" the blonde demanded. "I know there's no reasonable excuse I can give you to write off what I did, but I just- I wanted-"

"You wanted to get back at your dad," Harry scoffed, "and you chose the most fucked-up boy you could find to shove in his face."

"I was _afraid_. I was so scared of telling him the truth that- that I tried to get the media to do it for me," Draco told him and winced at how bad it sounded, how much of a coward it made him. "And even _then_ he didn't believe it. I was sick of being the son my father always wanted me to be. And I know you don't understand that, but…" Draco shook his head. "I never meant to hurt you, Harry, and it killed me to do it, but I was- I was confused. Everything about you, everything about how you made me feel confused me. And when I realized what those feelings _were_… I couldn't do it anymore."

The only time Draco had purposely deceived the media was that night at Sodom and Gomorrah. He'd kept planning to, but that was really the only time. Aside from lying to his father, of course, but that was over now.

"When I heard you were in the hospital, I was about to go and tell my father everything. For the first time in my _life_ I wanted to fix my mistakes instead of just covering them up, because I knew that was the only way I stood a chance to be with you."

"I get why you would do it," Harry told him. "What I don't understand is why you would keep it from me. You've been lying to me for months."

"I'm _human_, Harry," Draco said, frustrated. "I didn't want to risk losing you over some stupid mistake. I'm not perfect."

"I thought you were," Harry said, staring at the stop light that just refused to turn green. "I thought you were perfect. Everything about you. Even in the ways you weren't."

The raven might as well have been squeezing Draco's heart in his hands. "You need to tell me, Harry," Draco sighed. "Tell me you don't feel how I feel about you and I'll- I'll stop. I'll leave you alone."

But Harry didn't say anything. For a moment, he just sat there, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "I think this stop light's broken," was all he said, and ran it without a second thought.

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

There was a knock on the door of the back room of a restaurant in downtown Merlin and the owner of said restaurant smiled widely when he pulled it open. "Pete, my man," he greeted. "Come in. I'm glad you called. You have dinner yet?"

Peter shook his head. "I can't stay long," he said, lingering by the door. "I'm leaving town."

"What do you mean, you're leaving? What's Merlin going to do without its source?" the owner laughed, then scoffed. "Cocaine?"

"No, I'm out, man. I'm done," Peter told him. "Thought I'd collect on that grand you owe me before I hit the-"

Peter never got to finish that sentence, because someone behind him pushed him all the way into the room, knocking him down. He heard the door close, and when Peter got to his feet and turned around, it was his worst fear standing in front of him.

"I'm sorry, man," the owner told him, guilt written across his face, "but I'm on the brink of losing this place as it is. You get it, right?"

"Of course he does," Tom Riddle said amicably. He took a check out of his jacket pocket and handed it to the owner. "Your help has been much appreciated."

Peter lunged for the door, making it through without any interference from Riddle whatsoever, and if he wasn't so terrified, he would've found that suspicious. As it was, he ran out the door and into two uniformed officers waiting on the other side. He ducked when they grabbed for him, by some miracle managing to dash passed them and into the kitchen down the short hallway, which would lead to the back door.

He never made it. The kitchen staff, alarmed and confused, was ushered out of the room by one officer while the other slammed Peter into a wall, handcuffing him to a prep table. Once the kitchen staff was gone, assured that this was official police business, Riddle came strutting into the room.

"You weren't planning on leaving without saying goodbye, were you? Now, that's just bad manners."

Peter was already begging, handcuffed to a table in a room with Tom Riddle. The two officers were each guarding a door, making sure no one came in to witness what was about to happen. This was his worst nightmare come to life.

"I put a lot of time into you, Peter. A lot of effort. You're my number one salesman!" Riddle told him, like a compliment but more of a threat. He pulled up a step ladder and sat down on it, face-to-face with a panicking Peter Pettigrew. "You didn't think I'd just let you quit on me, did you?"

"I was- I was going to come see you."

Tom nodded in understanding. "Have you ever heard of something called Bisha'a, Peter?" At this point, Riddle stood up again, walking idly over to a deep fryer not five feet away. "It comes from the Bedouin tribes of the Judean dessert. It means 'trial by fire'. See, the way these tribesmen deal with liars is they take a red hot, metal rod and have the accused lick it. If their tongue scars or burns, then they're lying and charged with whatever crimes they wouldn't admit to."

He looked around, grabbing a knife from a nearby cabinet and discarding it before picking up a long, metal soup ladle. "That's the problem with our legal system, Peter. If you're a good enough liar, or just a persistent one, you could get away with anything," he said, dipping the ladle into the boiling hot fryer and stirring it around in a casual manner that belied the threat.

He took it out of the fryer and gestured at Peter with it, dripping oil onto the floor. "But you wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

"No," Peter breathed, eyes wide. "No."

"Then we shouldn't have any problems," Riddle stated, and the ladle went back into the fryer. "Now it's come to my attention that you been rather chummy lately with an old friend of ours," he said. "Harry Potter?"

"I-I never told him anything, I swear," Peter told him. "I swear! I didn't say-"

"Is that the truth, Peter?"

"Yes!" Peter shouted. "Yes, I swear!"

"Hm," Riddle considered, and the ladle came back out again. "Let's find out, shall we?"

Peter didn't feel it at first, the burning oil soaking into his skin and underneath it, but that only lasted a few seconds. After that, it was the only thing he could feel. Peter started screaming and didn't stop over the course of Riddle's thirty-minute interrogation cum torture session. He screamed until the raw burning in his throat rivaled the pain of the welts bubbling across his chest and neck and stomach, huge and full of fluid. The pain came in waves every few minutes, and Riddle stopped just before Peter could pass out.

"Now was that so difficult?" Tom sighed, exasperated with how long Peter had held out. He gave up eventually, of course. They always did. "You've put me in quite the predicament, Peter. How am I ever going to be able to trust you again?

"I won't- I won't s-say anything," Peter whimpered, exhausted and utterly defeated. He was being pulled under a wave of blissful nothingness and he welcomed it with open arms.

"I'd like to believe that, Peter. I really would," Riddle told him, "but how are you ever going to learn if I keep cleaning up after your mistakes?"

Peter didn't answer. He was awake, but all of his concentration was spent on breathing through the pain. He could barely hear what Riddle was saying anymore.

"Boys," Riddle called. His officers had reentered the room about ten minutes into their discussion, having cleared the building successfully with little to no interference. "Get him some help for those burns," he said. "But first…"

Peter was already gone, out cold and hanging limply from the prep table.

"Make sure he doesn't talk."

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

**Author's Note:** Toxicology reports take a lot longer than a few days, but for the sake of fic, I think we can overlook that. The song on the radio was 'Be My Escape' by Reliant K.


	29. Enemies and Friends

**Rating:** Mature

**Warnings:** Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any of the songs mentioned in this chapter.

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

**Previously:**

Draco tagged along when Harry planned a pseudo-interrogation with Peter, who confessed his involvement in Sirius' arrest and Cedric's death. On Peter's way to Surrey to confess to the police, Riddle tortured Peter into telling him what Harry knows.

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

**Enemies and Friends**

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

Ampersand was the kind of bar that would've been run out of business a month after its opening. It was stationed in the pseudo-historic downtown area of Merlin and had at first seemed intent on breathing 'new life' into the area with their pompous décor and pretentious wine lists. Completely ignoring the first law of real-estate, all of the fabulously wealthy customer-base the owner had been aiming for was quickly chased off by the night-life bohemians, the college students, and the club-hoppers. Finally facing bankruptcy, the owner was bought out by a tattoo artist from the parlor next door, who satisfied the locals by putting in a karaoke machine and offering a wide variety of cheap booze.

None of this back-story was common knowledge to any of the patrons visiting Ampersand that night, but especially so in the case of Harry Potter, who would rather be anywhere else at the moment.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Harry asked as he, Ron, and Hermione walked in together. It had taken less than a minute to find the table their roommates occupied, but there was an addition to the group that Harry wasn't expecting.

Two tables had been pushed together right below the stage, where Seamus, Dean, Draco, and Oliver Wood were seated, flagging down a waiter and talking animatedly. As soon as Seamus caught sight of them, he stood up, bent down to say something into Dean's ear, and headed straight for them. As soon as he did, though, everyone still at the table stood up and switched their seats like an orchestrated game of Musical Chairs.

"He came with Malfoy," Ron told him, watching him closely. He looked vaguely apprehensive, like Harry's chances of spontaneous combustion had just doubled from those four words.

Harry hadn't planned on coming until Ron and Hermione had shown up at Remus' apartment and threw a pair of jeans at his head. He would've argued, but Sirius had threatened to go all Jimi Hendrix on his guitar unless he got out of the apartment. Harry had eventually admitted defeat, and left with his guitar hung safely over his shoulder.

Harry narrowed his eyes at Ron. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because then you wouldn't have come," Hermione reasoned. Smart girl.

"Play nice, Harry," Seamus warned him, meeting them halfway to the table and immediately knowing what the three were talking about. "I was the one who invited him."

Harry pushed a hand through his hair, debating whether or not to catch a cab to Hogwarts, where he could brood in peace without people demanding he socialize. "Why would you _do_ that?"

"Why not?" Seamus shrugged. Harry turned wide, incredulous eyes on him. "C'mon, Harry. Oliver's nice. It's not his fault he's a teacher."

That was so not the point.

"Yes, it is," Harry insisted as Seamus walked away with his eyes rolling. "Am I the only one who thinks it's weird for a teacher to be hanging out with his underage students in a _bar_?"

"No," Hermione stated, following behind Seamus, "but you are the only one who's bothered by it. He's not that much older than us, really."

"That's not the point," Harry said as she walked away.

"Hey," Ron told him, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "I, uh. I never really apologized for what I said a while back, did I?"

Harry shook his head, brushing off the apology. "You were right."

"No, I know I was _right_, but…" Ron shrugged. "I shouldn't have said it." He gestured toward their table. "And I guess Malfoy _has_ gotten a lot better since last year."

"So, what? Suddenly he's a great person?"

"No, he's still a terrible person, just-" He shrugged again and started toward the group. "Maybe not quite as terrible as I thought."

Reluctantly, Harry followed after him. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because as sad and pathetic as it was for you to be living in Fantasy Land," Ron said, "at least you were happy there."

When they got to the table, Dean pointed to the seated directly across from him, which put Harry as far away from Oliver as possible without him actually being at another table.

"Draco, come on," Seamus was wheedling. It was too early in the night for most people to be drunk enough to get up in front of a crowd of strangers and embarrass themselves. Seamus, however, didn't need alcohol to lose his inhibitions.

Draco shook his head resolutely. "No."

"But it's Elton John!" Seamus protested. "'Don't Go Breaking My Heart' was one of his best songs! How can you not want to sing one of Elton John's best songs?"

Draco scoffed. "Not even _I'm_ that gay, Seamus."

Dean raised his hand. "I'm that gay."

Seamus turned and beamed at him.

Oliver nudged shoulders with Draco. "You're not going to sing?"

"I don't sing," the blonde told him.

"Not publicly, at least. He sings in the shower all the time," Blaise announced. "Nice Adele cover this morning, by the way. Hit me right here," he said, making a fist and bumping his chest, right over his heart.

"So you're holding out on us," Oliver accused, smiling amicably.

"I didn't-" Harry started to say before remembering that he and Draco weren't speaking, hadn't spoken since the night before. Everyone was looking at him. He looked down at the table and cleared his throat. "I didn't know you could sing."

Like it was choreographed, everyone's head turned to see Draco's response.

"I can't," the blonde replied easily. "I can exhale sounds attractively, sure, but singing when you're alone isn't the same as singing for a crowd."

"Well," Oliver announced, setting his drink down and standing, "you're not raining on _my_ parade." The table watched as he walked over toward the music selection.

Blaise smirked. "He's not going to sing Streisand, is he?"

As soon as Seamus and Dean were off the stage, the opening cords rang out of the speakers above them. Harry turned incredulous eyes onto the stage. He recognized the song immediately before Oliver started singing and wished he'd had the sense to stay home.

'_Jessie, he's a friend  
__Yeah, I know he's been a good friend of mine  
__But lately something's changed that ain't hard to define  
__Jessie's got himself a girl and I want to make her mine._'

Draco winced as soon as Oliver opened his mouth and stared in shock throughout the chorus, mirroring the expressions of most of their table. The TA was up on the stage, overacting and mostly sedentary but adding little dance moves now and then that made him look like the mentally handicapped lovechild of Elvis and MJ.

All through the second verse, Oliver kept it up, smiling the whole time, and the crowd kept applauding, great humor and perseverance making up for his terribly off-key singing. In the middle of all this, still as a statue and leaning back into his seat with his arms crossed, Harry's face didn't give away much of anything. The tension in his shoulders and his jaw gave him away, though, and the group was shooting glances at him like he might storm the stage at any moment, but the raven didn't move, granite eyes never leaving the man on stage.

''_Cause she's watching him with those eyes  
__And she's loving him with that body, I just know it  
__And he's holding her in his arms late, late at night._'

In a move that could've ended in a disaster of epic proportions, Oliver stepped onto the group's table and struck a truly ridiculous pose that made the entire bar burst out laughing. By some divine miracle, the table gave an ominous shake but miraculously didn't give out under his weight.

'_You know, I wish that I had Jessie's girl  
__I wish that I had Jessie's girl  
__Where can I find a woman like that?_'

He jumped down from the table, strutting into the crowd before turning back toward the group. It soon became apparent who this song was for, however, and Draco tried to pretend not to know the goof singing into the microphone and pointing directly at him.

For a 'straight' bar, Draco thought everyone was reacting in a strangely positive way. Watching a guy pseudo-serenading another guy didn't get the immediate disapproving looks Draco had half-expected. Far from it; everyone seemed twice as entertained once they realized who Oliver was singing to. Even one of the bartenders, who honestly wouldn't look out of place at a skinhead meeting, was cheering him on.

Draco suddenly had the feeling he'd never want to live anywhere but Merlin.

The second the interlude started, Oliver used the opportunity to drag Draco out of his seat. With a relatively small amount of struggle, Draco stood up and covered his eyes in embarrassment as Oliver freak-danced in circles around him. Mortification notwithstanding, Draco couldn't help but laugh.

"He's no Springfield, that's for sure," Blaise chuckled before turning to Harry with a smirk. "But what do you think, _Jessie_?"

Harry turned back to the scene Oliver was making as he pulled Draco close to him, the microphone between them. But when he opened his mouth to sing this time, while there was still a joking smile on his face, Oliver looked less silly and more… genuine.

Harry dropped his eyes to the floor and counted backwards from ten.

'_And I'm looking in the mirror all the time  
__Wondering what she don't see in me  
__I've been funny, I've been cool with the lines  
__Ain't that the way love's supposed to be?_'

After the last chorus in which Oliver tried in vain to get Draco to dance with him, the last note was drowned out by the bar's raucous applause and wolf-whistles. Oliver gave an outrageous bow before replacing the mic and taking his seat.

"What did you think?" the TA asked as he sat down, breathless and smiling.

"I think that was about the worst thing I've ever heard," Draco told him, his smile belaying his words.

"I think Oliver here should stick to grading papers," Harry said, and it would've been a teasing comment had he been smiling, but he wasn't. Not at all. "You do know he's seventeen, don't you?"

All good humor instantly disappeared from the faces of everyone at the table. Even the air felt charged.

"Harry, he was kidding," Ron told him, shaking his head like he knew this was going to happen and regretted going along with it.

But then Oliver nodded. "I'm aware."

Harry's eyes narrowed at his casual tone. "And you're what? Thirty?"

Oliver raised an amused eyebrow. "Twenty-two, actually."

Draco gave him a warning look. "Harry-"

"Whatever," Harry stated, leaning back in his seat like he didn't care. "It's none of my business anyway."

Oliver pressed his lips together like he was trying not to laugh. "Really."

"Okay!" Seamus announced. "This is starting to get a little uncomfortable, so… Harry? I think it's your turn." Harry, glaring across their table at Oliver, didn't seem to have heard him. "No? Okay, uh… Hermione?"

Hermione nodded decisively and grabbed Ron by the elbow. "Come on, Ron."

As the couple went on stage and Queen's 'Karma Chameleon' rang out of the speaker system, the tense atmosphere surrounding their table began to dissipate. That was, until Oliver put an arm over the backrest of Draco's chair.

"Stop that," the blonde told him. He lowered his voice so that Harry couldn't hear him. "The song was funny, okay? But that's enough. Contrary to Seamus' opinion, I don't want to make him jealous."

Oliver's eyes widened innocently. "Who says that's what I'm doing?"

"Regardless," Draco said, pushing the TA's arm away. "He's going to punch you in the face. Now quit it."

"What if I lean in really close and start whispering in your ear?" Oliver suggested, doing just that. "What would he do then?"

"He said to knock it off," Harry said, successfully baited and gritting his teeth.

Oliver's eyebrows went up. "I thought it was none of your business."

The raven glared. "If you touch him again-"

"Are you threatening your teacher?" Oliver asked. His brow was knitted as if in disbelief, but his lips were tilted at an amused angle.

"Are you fucking your student?" Harry shot back. The entire table's eyes went wide. Seamus literally gasped.

"Harry, shut up," Draco glared, but neither of them were listening.

Oliver gave Harry a tight smile. "I'll have to get back to you on that."

That was apparently all Harry could take, because the second the words left Oliver's mouth, Harry snapped. He was across the table, a fist twisted in the TA's shirt and the other pulled back. Draco was between them before Harry could even land a punch, pushing the boy away before any real damage was done aside from some spilled drinks.

"You fucking pervert!" Harry raged, held back by Draco, Dean, and Ron, who had jumped off the stage mid-chorus the second Harry shot out of his seat. Everyone was shouting at once, pulling at the raven's arms as he tried to barrel through them to get at Oliver.

"Harry, stop!" Draco shouted, pushing at the raven's shoulders and knocking them both into the table behind them. "Stop! Jesus Christ, just sit down! He was messing with you!"

Harry finally relented, dropping his head and pulling at his hair in frustration. He had drawn the attention of the entire bar, just another form of entertainment. He dropped his hands and let out a bitter laugh, looking anywhere but at Draco and Oliver. "I am so gone," he said, running a trembling hand through his hair and turning toward the door.

"No, hey," Oliver spoke up, and even though he still looked startled, he sounded sincere. "I'm sorry. I really was just trying to screw with you."

But Harry didn't turn around, didn't give any indication that he'd heard Oliver at all. Ron heaved a great sigh and started toward the door.

"Stop talking to him!" Draco said, shoving at the TA's shoulder when it looked like he might try to go after the raven. "Why the hell would you say that?"

"He was acting like a dog with a bone," Oliver shrugged, straightening out his shirt. He was still watching the door. "Wow, though. He really _did_ try to punch me."

"I _told_ you he would," Draco said, dropping back into his seat and trying to ignore the looks he was getting from the rest of the bar. "Even _I_ want to punch you right now."

Oliver sat down next to him and contemplated his now watered-down drink. "Sorry."

"'I'll have to get back to you on that,'" Draco scoffed. "What a fucking stupid thing to say."

"Uh-oh!" Seamus said, collecting the table's attention. Eyes wide, he pointed at the door.

And there was Harry, striding purposefully through the bar with Ron at his heels. The redhead was speaking fast and making wide hand gestures, trying in vain to get his point across to Harry, who was determinedly ignoring him. Ron threw his hands up in defeat, watching as Harry grabbed a chair and climbed onto the narrow stage with it, opening the guitar case that he'd left in Ron's car.

"What is he doing?" Draco demanded the moment Ron got within hearing rage of their table. Ron dropped into his seat and shook his head, eyes wide like he wasn't looking forward to finding out.

They watched as Harry readjusted the microphone stand and got out his guitar, the bar talking amongst themselves as they realized this wasn't going to be karaoke and not going quiet at all when Harry leaned into the mic and started speaking.

"So, this is a song I wrote a little while ago for…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Before everything went to hell."

The opening chords were slow and not at all what Draco expected -whatever it was he'd expected. Harry's head was down and he wasn't acting like he was playing in front of a room full of people. He looked more like he was practicing by himself in the dorm room. Even sitting right below the stage, his voice was difficult to hear over the crowd. When the raven opened his mouth, though, his voice was a feather up Draco's spine.

'_Oh, no  
__This couldn't be more unexpected  
__And I can tell that I've been moving in so slow  
__Don't let it throw you off too far  
_'_Cause I'll be running right behind you'_

He had yet to look up, but he was injecting so much emotion into his words that Draco didn't have to see his face to know what he was feeling. The raven's voice was a paradox, both defeated and achingly hopeful at the same time, pleading and devoted. There was a certain pain Draco had become familiar with while hearing Harry sing, like a bruise he just wouldn't let heal, but he'd only ever heard it when Harry thought he was alone, whispering it to his guitar late at night when everyone else was asleep. That pain had become Draco's lullaby.

'_Could this be out of line?  
__Could this be out of line?  
__To say you're the only one breaking me down like this  
__You're the only one I would take a shot on  
__Keep me hanging on  
__So contagiously'_

Harry sounded like an addict who needed a fix too bad to quit. There was a certain reluctance in what the raven was singing that Draco recognized from every time Harry had pulled away from him. It was the same hesitance at crossing some boundary that made being close to him hurt someplace way down. But to hear Harry say it, to hear the confirmation of everything he'd been hoping for, Draco felt his heart stop.

Because Harry had a power over him -always had- and that power made itself known in Harry's voice. Hearing him sing was like being given a piece of his soul. It made Draco feel that maybe it wasn't just Harry who was acting like addict.

'_Oh  
__When I'm around you I'm predictable  
_'_Cause I believe in loving you at first sight  
__I know it's crazy but I'm hoping to  
__To take a hold of you.'_

The chorus started again and, while Draco was far too transfixed to notice, the blonde wasn't the only one affected so strongly. It must've been a shock, after a long run of carefree songs bordering on parody, to hear something so heartfelt and serious. The bar, now filled to capacity, was going quiet. People actually stopped what they were doing to listen and watch the boy onstage who was practically breathing a love letter into the microphone, smacking their neighbors to silence them. Some even had their phones out, recording him. Even Oliver, who had the least reason to be impressed, assumed a look of dawning but implicit understanding.

And then Draco stopped breathing, because Harry's eyes had met his and there was such an unadulterated longing there that Draco feared he would start sobbing the second he took a breath. It seemed Harry had been keeping a secret, because there was no way this was new. Underneath all of his easy smiles and declarations of betrayal and attempts at distance, something had been growing, bottled up inside the raven where no one could see it.

'_Oh, you're everything I'm wanting  
__Come to think of it, I'm aching.'_

The raven's eyes closed, his brow wrinkled like he was in physical pain.

'_On account of my transgression  
__Will you welcome this confession?'_

And for a second Harry didn't seem like he could go on. A moment where his breathing hitched and his fingers stalled over his guitar and his eyes shone bright as he stared straight up at the ceiling like it would keep him from crumbling.

And then, as if his delay had been expected and welcomed, he continued.

'_Could this be out of line?  
__Could this be out of line?  
__To say you're the only one breaking me down like this  
__You're the only one I would take a shot on  
__Keep me hanging on  
__So contagiously'_

Through the applause, there wasn't even a ghost of a smile on Harry's face as he packed up and stood from his seat. There was nothing. He stepped off the stage, fielding pats on the back and emphatic compliments from the room with as little actual talking as possible, and headed straight for the door without even a glance backwards.

Draco felt as if a boulder was sitting on his chest as he watched the raven leave, a heavy feeling that had been growing steadily ever since that god forsaken dinner with his father. He was sick of shouldering all the blame. Yes, he screwed up. He was sorry. But he could apologize until he was blue in the face and it wouldn't solve a damn thing. Everything had been said already. It was Harry's move now.

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

Harry didn't show up at school at all that weekend, not that Draco had expected him to. He wasn't answering his phone, either. He'd briefly considered going to Remus' apartment, but he doubted cornering the raven would end in anything but a door slammed in his face. That in mind, Draco didn't see him until Monday morning.

The raven looked _wrecked_. And while that wasn't exactly an uncommon occurrence, this was a whole new level of insomnia. Even Snape was shooting him odd looks, which probably had more to do with the fact that the raven was actually early for once than with his Burton-esque complexion. He was bent over an abused-looking comp notebook like he'd spent two days temping for Atlas and his spine would crumble if he sat up too straight. The rings around his eyes were so dark it looked like two-day-old eyeliner that hadn't been washed off.

Draco pulled out his camera.

Click. _Beep_.

Draco smiled as Harry looked up at the now-familiar flash of the blonde's camera. "Another tortured artist shot to add to my collection," Draco smirked, his attempt to lighten the mood falling flat when Harry just bit his lip and went back to his notebook.

Draco had to fight the urge to yell at him. Honestly, how much stubbornness could one person possess without simply ceasing to exist?

"That was some performance the other night," he tried again, taking his seat.

Nothing.

Draco glared. "Oh, so you're back to ignoring me now?"

"Please," Harry dropped his head and sighed. "Please, just leave me alone."

"Why? So you can ignore me more effectively?" Draco scoffed.

"Please," Harry said again, jaw as clenched as his fist around his chewed-up pen.

There was something desperate in the raven's voice, something that said he really couldn't do this, that he was just barely keeping himself in his chair when every part of him wanted to run out of the room. So Draco sighed, sat back, and pretended to pay attention to whatever Snape had begun talking about.

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Seamus' Hummer was parked on the far left side of the parking lot, conveniently away from the window of Dumbledore's office. It was big and cumbersome and so unlike what Harry was used to that when something jumped out of the backseat, Harry slammed on the brakes so hard that his forehead went into the windshield.

"Damn it!" Harry hissed, hands clamped over his forehead and wincing at the throb.

"That's got to hurt," commented a serene-looking Draco who had settled comfortably into the passenger seat.

"When did-?" Harry gaped in disbelief. "This isn't even your car!"

"I'm amazing, I know," Draco smirked, adjusting the seat and buckling his seatbelt. "All hail the glory that is me."

Harry rested his head against the steering wheel and sighed. "I'm gonna kill Seamus."

Draco glanced over from where he was now fixing his hair in the rearview. "Yeah, you might want to refrain from making death threats," he suggested. "You know, at least until the whole suspected murderer thing blows over."

Exasperated, Harry let go of the brake and idled out of the parking lot. "Why do you keep doing this?" he asked. "You don't even want _me_ doing this. Why do you keep making yourself a part of it?"

"Because despite how much you might hate me right now," Draco told him, "I'm not going to sit back and watch you get yourself killed, even if that means skipping class to make sure you don't do something irrevocably stupid. Now, where are we going?"

Defeated, Harry just rolled his eyes. "I need to speak to Rufus Scrimgeour."

"There's no lighter fluid involved this time, is there?" Draco questioned, messing about with the heater. "I swear, it took hours to get that smell out of my hair."

Silence met that statement, and when Draco glanced up at him, Harry was biting his lip.

Draco blinked. "Are you smiling?" he questioned, elated.

Harry shook his head, eyes on the road. The smile dimmed, but didn't disappear. "You're ridiculous."

A short while later, they drove into a parking garage, left Seamus' Hummer on Level One, and they took the elevator up to Level Three.

"He was on the news this morning," Harry explained as the doors opened. "Reporters were swarming his car. I saw that in the background and knew where he'd be once the debate was over. Hopefully we can get through the press."

'That' was a sign behind them beside the elevator that read: 'P3'. Over the railing, Merlin sprawled languidly for miles.

"That's your plan? No breaking and entering? No risk of assault charges?" Draco asked with a scoff. As he said this, settling in beside Harry on the wall and rubbing his hands together to ward off the cold, he reached into his jacket for his cigarettes, took one out and lit it, solely for the purpose of getting on Harry's nerves. The raven had avoided looking at him the whole ride over; forgive him for being petty. "Kind of anti-climatic, I have to admit."

Harry glanced at the burning cigarette with narrowed eyes, but stubbornly looked away, staring three floors down and watching for a sign of Scrimgeour. And then all was silent.

For about a minute.

"Listen," Draco said, "About the other night… Oliver didn't-"

"Fuck Oliver," Harry cut him off harshly, glaring down at nothing in particular. "I don't want to talk about Oliver."

"I don't want him," Draco told him slowly, as if it even needed to be said. He took a deep breath, let it out as fog in the chilly January air. "I want- I want _you_."

Harry turned and looked at him like he'd been slapped. "Why?!" he demanded incredulously, loud enough that a couple of passersby shot him curious looks. He dropped his voice and ran a hand through his hair. "Why? Why would you want…?" he trailed of, gesturing his hands toward himself with a disbelieving shrug.

The way Harry said it implied he had no idea why anyone ever would. His apparently sudden low self-worth came as no surprise to Draco. He knew the raven well enough to have noticed it before, little comments that were too honest to be funny. Harry honestly didn't know what anyone could see in him.

Draco didn't have to think about the question; he knew the answer before Harry had even asked it. He'd wanted Harry since the first time he saw him, looking down at him from above in Dumbledore's claustrophobic office where his parents sat deciding his future, the raven's blinding smile and brilliant green eyes shining bright in the September sun. He'd wanted him through staunch denial and hurt feelings, through bloody knuckles and lingering apologies against his skin. He'd wanted him through public humiliation and the best of intentions, through emotional breakdowns and inebriated late-night confessions. Draco had wanted him before he even knew what he wanted.

It was how the raven made him feel, like he was something precious, something to be treasured. It was the way Harry looked at him sometimes, as if just the sight of him was enough to take his breath away. It was how he acted like Draco's happiness meant the world to him, like he would do anything to keep him safe. It was something Draco was terrified he'd never have again.

More than anything, though, it was just Harry. It was his face, his eyes, god, his _voice_. Even his hair. It was his smile and his touch and the way he let Draco in, opened up and let Draco see everything he was, everything he'd been through and everything he hated about himself. It was the intensity and strength in which he did everything, felt everything. It was… everything.

"Fuck if I know," Draco said, smiling to himself. "Face it, Harry. I've seen you at your worst and I _still_ love you. You're not going to chase me off."

Draco wasn't sure what it was at first that made Harry go so still, staring at him with eyes wide in shock and fear, as if the Medusa had turned him to stone. Then he remembered what he'd said and went just as still.

Harry looked deeply confused, like he just couldn't wrap his head around it. "You…?"

Smoking as a means of distraction, Draco huffed out an insincere laugh that sounded fake even to his own ears. "Isn't it obvious?"

Harry let out a breath, the noise caught between a scoff and a sigh, like when things couldn't possibly get any worse and then they _do_. "Why the hell did it have to turn out this way? I was perfectly fine with how things were before you…" Harry trailed off, because that was it. There was nothing else to tack onto his denial. 'Before you' covered pretty much everything.

"You call that _fine_?" Draco scoffed. "Putting on a big smile for everyone so they won't ask questions or, god forbid, feel sorry for you?" He shook his head. "It's so much easier pretending to be someone else, isn't it?"

"You would know," Harry told him.

Draco nodded in easy agreement. "Yeah, I would," he said. "So take it from someone who knows, Harry; it's fucking exhausting for everyone involved."

"Then go back," Harry told him with a flippant gesture toward the elevator. "I'm sure Oliver's real worried about you."

"He was trying to help," Draco said, and then smirked. "That was his spectacularly successful attempt at making you jealous."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I'm not jealous."

Draco arched a deeply unconcerned eyebrow. "No? Well, he gets what he wants either way," he shrugged.

Harry's jaw clenched, repressed thoughts that wanted to be spoken. "Draco…"

"The student-teacher thing is actually kind of hot now that I think about it," the blonde told him, biting his bottom lip as if in contemplation.

Slow, like a predator driving its prey into a corner, the raven moved sideways and put his hands around the blonde to cage him in, settling on the rail on either side of him. Harry was so close now Draco could feel his body heat. Harry met his eyes, intense and unyielding, searching. He didn't look happy. "Really."

Draco blew smoke in his face. To his credit, Harry didn't even blink. "You think Oliver would mind being my mean-time guy or-?"

And Draco had always had an innate talent when it came to pushing Harry until he snapped. It was a talent he utilized at every given opportunity because getting under Harry's skin turned the raven into this unbelievably sexy creature. He'd always known just what to say to rattle his cage, sometimes without meaning to. So he wasn't too surprised when Harry kissed him.

It was nothing like the last one, the one in the dining room at Bella Vedova, but it had the same effect nonetheless. This wasn't punishing or angry; this was something else. This kiss spoke to him. Slow and unhurried, it said 'I miss you' in its tenderness and took his breath away. In the way Harry sighed against his lips, it felt like relief, and not just on his part.

And then Harry pulled away, still incredibly close, watching his face as if looking for something. Unblinking, Draco looked back.

Harry's eyes dropped, giving nothing away. And then he pried Draco's forgotten cigarette out from between his fingers. "You're gonna kill yourself," the raven told him, dropping it onto the sidewalk and grinding it into the pavement with the tip of his boot.

"Christ, Harry," Draco said, a bitter laugh caught in his throat. "Don't you think _I'm_ scared?"

Harry put some distance between them and sighed. "It's not that."

But Draco wasn't going to let Harry pull away from him, not after that. Slow, as if Harry was some skittish animal that would turn tail and run at any sudden movement, his arms came up and twisted around the raven's neck, bringing them chest-to-chest. Miracle of miracles, Harry's hands eventually settled around his waist.

"Don't delude yourself, Harry," Draco said into the other boy's hair. "You're scared. You aren't even mad at me anymore. You're _scared_ and you're using what I did as an excuse to push me away. Like you pushed Zach away."

Harry gave a deep sigh. "That wasn't-"

"Like you pushed Cedric away," Draco interrupted in a near whisper, tightening his grip. The close contact was necessary for this. Being physically close like they were had always made him feel like they were one person. Harry couldn't get mad at him, not with him this close.

"Yeah," Harry nodded into his neck, then cleared his throat. "Yeah, I guess I might've- With him. But…"

"But you were scared," Draco finished for him, making his voice gentle. "You were scared then and you're scared now. But I'm not going anywhere, Harry. I'm not. I can't."

"It's not up to you," Harry said. He burrowed his face into the blonde's neck. "Things happen that we have no control over, Draco."

"Well, get over it," the blonde told him, blunt and totally unsympathetic. Being this close to Harry was like coming out of detox, so despite the harshness of his words his voice was soft. "Let it go already."

And Draco wasn't just talking about them. From the way he felt the raven's breath hitch, he knew Harry understood this, but his hands only tightened in the back of Draco's coat. His shoulders went lax, the tension seeping out of him like he could breathe again now that it was out in the open.

Because they had never, not even once, really talked about Harry's parents.

"Don't you think I'm trying?"

"No," Draco dead-panned. His hand came up to tangle into the raven's hair. "You hold onto the past with the grip of a pit-bull."

"So you're saying I should just give up," Harry stated, breathing a sigh hot into Draco's neck. "Just like that."

"No," Draco said, feeling warm and relaxed and complacent for the first time in too long. "I'm saying you should move on."

Nearby, the elevator door opened and over Harry's shoulder Draco recognized the man who stepped out of it. The swarm of reporters that Harry had seen seemed to have found a different target, which wasn't so surprising. Riddle demanded attention like no one else.

Still, it presented a marvelous opportunity to speak to the man alone. That in mind, Draco disentangled his fingers from the raven's hair and pushed insistently on Harry's shoulder. Harry made an unhappy noise at Draco separating them, which made Draco smile before pointing over the boy's shoulder at Scrimgeour.

Harry wasted no time catching up to the man. "Mr. Scrimgeour?"

"Sorry, no more questions," the man grunted without looking at them. Whatever had happened at the debate, it couldn't have gone well. He was already halfway into his car when Harry grabbed the door to keep it from being closed. Alarmed, the man looked up, first at Harry's hand on his car, then at Harry, then back at Draco. His expression spoke of vague recognition.

Draco crossed his arms over his chest. "Do we _look_ like reporters?"

"It'll only take a second," Harry promised, earnest and trying to look unthreatening.

The man looked between them, considering it. Then he sighed, got out of the car, and leaned against the open door frame. "Make it quick."

So Harry did. Out spilled everything he knew, everything he suspected. Even to his own ears, his accusations sounded like a half-finished puzzle, but he wasn't telling this man everything. He didn't mention what Riddle did to Draco. He didn't tell him how he got Peter to tell him what he did. After he was finished, Scrimgeour stayed silent for a moment before dragging a weary hand over his face.

"Look, boys-"

"You don't believe us," Draco stated, disappointed but not surprised in the least. Out loud, this whole thing sounded ridiculous.

"Do you know how many people I've had approach me with far-fetched stories about Tom Riddle?" the man demanded. "My _dentist_ swore on her mother's grave that she saw him attacking a mall Santa. And I understand, I do, especially coming from a young gay couple."

"We're not-" Harry tried to say, but the warden spoke over him. Whether he was going to finish that with 'not lying' or 'not a couple', Draco wasn't sure.

"Riddle is the most corrupt politician I've ever come across. Believe me, I know. But even if you had indisputable evidence that he's committing a serious crime, I still can't help you."

And with that said, he got into his car and shut the door. Harry, not quite ready to give up yet, hunched over the window and questioned, "What if we can prove it?"

Scrimgeour looked up with an expression between frustrated and curious. "If what you're saying is true, then it's no place a kid needs to be nosing around in. It's dangerous."

"But what if we can?" the raven insisted, borderline desperate.

The window rolled down a few inches and Scrimgeour paused as if weighing his words. "Give me your phone," he said, reaching one hand out of the car and making an impatient gesture.

Harry dug around in his coat pocket, then his jeans when he came up empty-handed. Nothing. He sighed. "I must've-"

"Here," Draco interrupted, rolling his eyes as he handed over his own phone. He gave Harry a look that shouted all the synonyms of the word incompetent.

As soon as Scrimgeour flipped it open, he snorted. "Cute," he commented to Draco.

Harry looked at the blonde in question, who was getting a little pink-faced, and not from the cold.

Draco shook his head. "You're my wallpaper," he shrugged, defensive and adorable and…

Harry turned back to Scrimgeour.

"Between you and me," the warden said, punching something into Draco's phone, "I have it on good authority that the feds have had their eyes on him for a while." The car came to life and the warden sighed, giving the phone back to Draco. "If you can prove what you're accusing him of, this is the guy to call."

Harry nodded eagerly, not even considering what that meant he would have to do.

Scrimgeour shook his head and put the car in reverse. "Now get off my car."

As the warden drove away, Draco brought up the new contact Scrimgeour had put on his phone.

"Mad-Eye Moody," Draco read with a snort before handing it to Harry. "He's fucking with us!"

"Maybe it's a codename," Harry considered, acutely aware that he sounded like an idiot but needing to keep his hopes up. "Keep it. You know, just in case."

Draco almost scoffed at him, but something else caught his attention. The raven was staring at his phone in a kind of rapt attention. Draco didn't have to wonder what it was.

His wallpaper was a photo of him and Harry, taken that night at Sodom and Gomorrah. Harry was pressing a kiss to his cheek and Draco was smiling way too big. There was confetti all over them and they looked happier than Draco could ever remember them being.

Harry flipped the phone shut and met Draco's eyes, and for a second he looked unsure, but then he took a step or two forward and put the phone back into the blonde's coat pocket. He didn't immediately back away like Draco expected him to. Instead, he linked their hands together.

"Let's go," the raven said, and they started back the way they came.

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

They made it back just in time for English Lit and as soon as they were through the door, the bell ringing right behind them, Remus gestured for Harry to come up to his desk.

"I take it the two of you are working things out?" Remus said, a small smile tilting his lips. "Sirius will be so pleased."

That was sarcasm, of course. Forever loyal, Sirius would always think of Draco as that bitchy blonde kid who broke Harry's heart and turned him into an insufferable teenage hermit who woke everyone up at three in the damn morning playing angst-filled melodies on his guitar.

"We're, uh," Harry trailed off. Honestly, he had no idea what they were doing. "Yeah, I suppose so."

Remus nodded understandingly, lulling him into a false sense of security before asking, "Then would you like to tell me where you were earlier?"

"Oh," Harry stated, stalling. "I, uh. I was-"

Remus' phone rang from inside his desk, interrupting whatever made-up excuse Harry was about to give. Remus shook his head. "Stop skipping class, Harry."

"'Kay," Harry nodded, looking appropriately ashamed of himself.

"Hello?" Remus said into his phone. A moment later, his eyes went wide. "Oh, no."

Harry, who was about to take his seat, paused mid-step.

"Well, is he-? How bad is it?" Remus asked whoever was on the other line. "Okay, of course. I'll be right there."

"What was that about?" Harry questioned as soon as he hung up.

"Peter's back in the hospital," Remus told him, pocketing his phone. From his seat, Draco's head snapped up at them at hearing Peter's name and caught Harry's eye, looking alarmed.

"What?" Harry said, equally alarmed. "What for?"

"I'm not sure, but Sirius heard something about burns," he explained, already starting toward his TA who was on the other side of the room. "Oliver?"

Frantic, Draco jumped out of his seat and over to where Harry was standing beside Remus' desk. "Burns?" the blonde parroted, his face even paler than usual. "But we didn't-"

"Don't jump to any conclusions," Harry told him, voice low. "They don't know what happened yet."

'_I wouldn't go near any open flames if I were you.'_

His own voice was ringing in his ears, his parting shot to a man he doesn't –didn't- give a damn about.

"Harry, we doused him with lighter fluid and left him there," Draco said, voice a panicked whisper. "What if-?"

"You didn't do anything," Harry said, and then his eyes took on a vacant look as a thought occurred to him. "No, you weren't even there," he told Draco, resolute and demanding. "If anyone asks, you weren't with me."

Draco glared at him. A man might be dead because of them and the raven was still playing the hero, taking the blame, shouldering the burden. "Harry!" he hissed.

"I mean it, Draco," Harry said seriously, taking him by his shoulders. He looked more determined than Draco had ever seen him. "You never left the school yesterday, okay?" the raven told him, vehement as he brushed a strand of blonde hair back behind Draco's ear. "Promise me."

Caught helplessly in emphatic green, Draco nodded over and over. "I promise," he whispered as the raven's hands fell away. "Harry…"

"It'll be okay," the raven told him, and that, too, felt like a promise. "We'll talk later. Okay? We're gonna be fine."

And Harry held both sides of his face and leaned in to press a kiss against his forehead before pulling him back toward their desks. In the face of something so serious, the possibility of something so awful, it was like all their other problems had disappeared and for one terrible moment Draco was almost glad that this happened. But then he saw Professor Lupin slip out of the room, pale and anxious, and all happiness abandoned him.

When the bell rang at the end of class, Remus still hadn't returned.

The room emptied itself as Draco packed up his belongings at a snail's pace, his brain caught on all the possibilities of what could've happened to Peter after they'd left that day. He didn't notice when Oliver sat down beside him.

"You okay?" the TA questioned.

"Hm?" Draco blinked. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Look," Oliver said. "I'm sorry about last night. I really was just trying to help."

"I know that," Draco assured him, standing and shouldering his bag. "I suppose it's not entirely your fault."

"You walked in together," Oliver observed. "Kissed and made up already?"

"Oh, definitely," Draco snorted. "We're planning a Spring wedding." As the TA laughed, Draco noticed he was hiding something behind his back. "What's that?"

"I got you something," the Oliver smiled. "I kind of… stole your memory card last night." And with that, Oliver handed him an unassuming black binder. When Draco gave him a questioning look, Oliver smiled wider. "Go ahead."

So Draco did, and nothing could've prepared him for what was inside. There were dozens of photographs, _his_ photographs, blown up and foreign-looking outside of his camera. Page after page of opportunistic shots that never looked as beautiful as they did now.

"You-?" Draco looked up at him, confused. "What is this?"

"What, you don't recognize them?" Oliver smiled and pointed at one. "This one's my favorite."

A black butterfly perched loftily on the filter of a burning cigarette, back-dropped by the view of his mother's garden in the distance.

"It looks like an anti-smoking ad," Draco critiqued.

Oliver laughed. "I sent one to the head of the photography department at my school in San Francisco," he said, then shrugged. "We were talking and I mentioned finding some promising young talent. She said if she likes your work, she'll consider writing a recommendation letter."

Draco arched a brow. "You just so happened to mention it, did you?"

"I might've collected on a few favors," Oliver smirked. "It's not a guarantee, but it will definitely help your chances. Not that you need it, but our photography program is one of the best."

Draco's eyes stalled over shots he hardly remembered taking. "Why would you do this?" he asked, closing the binder and looking up at Oliver in question.

Considering his words, Oliver dropped his eyes for a moment, but when he answered, his smile was soft and his voice was quiet and decidedly not hopeful. "Let's just say I'd like you around for your eighteen birthday."

Fighting a sigh, Draco looked away and shook his head. "Oliver…"

"I know," the TA told him, closer than before. A hand reaching up to touch Draco's face, his voice was down to a whisper. "I get it. You're in a deeply committed relationship."

Draco couldn't stop himself from wincing at that. He was used to Oliver being supportive, being quietly encouraging and nonjudgmental, an open ear, but even though his voice was as understanding and unbiased as it usually was, his words were bitter and they stabbed at a place where Draco couldn't be more insecure.

"Don't do that," Draco said, turning away. Oliver caught him by the shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Oliver told him, soft and genuine. Calloused fingers tilted Draco's head up, and while he knew where this was going, the blonde didn't stop it from happening until after it was already over, hands reaching up to press meaningfully at Oliver's chest. He turned his face away and cursed.

"Oliver," he sighed, because he had hoped this wouldn't happen. Of course he'd seen it coming; Oliver had made it more than obvious. But Draco didn't want to hurt him, didn't want to reject him, and he thought if he ignored it, Oliver would get the point, but that obviously wasn't the case. "Damn it."

"He doesn't deserve you, Blondie," Oliver told him, his hands dropping lifelessly to his sides. "You're too good for him."

Draco shook his head, a humorless laugh on the tip of his tongue. He looked at Oliver with a sad smile. "He said the same thing."

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**Author's Note:** This chapter is dedicated to **MomoIsMe** for being an amazing person and reminding me why I started writing in the first place.

Harry's song was 'So Contagious' by Acceptance, though I'm sure you can find a killer acoustic version on Youtube. Oliver's was Rick Springfield's "Jessie's Girl".


	30. Stranger

**Rating:** Mature

**Warnings:** Slash. Profanity. OOC-ness.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any of the songs mentioned in this chapter.

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**Previously:**

Harry made his feelings known through the medium of song. Draco and Harry went to Scrimgeour for help. Oliver made his feelings known in a more direct fashion.

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**Mother Knows Best**

**Chapter Thirty**

**Stranger**

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That Tuesday, for the first time since coming to Hogwarts, Harry woke up with the intention of skipping school. It wasn't an easy feat, considering it was a boarding school, and Harry would no doubt be catching hell for it from a variety of concerned parties, but this was too important to pass up.

He'd contacted Moody.

In a desolate patch of woods on the outskirts of Merlin, in the same direction heading out toward Malfoy Manor, Harry drove Remus' nondescript Honda onto a dirt road that led exactly three miles to where Moody had designated they meet. And, okay, so he didn't exactly have permission to take Remus' car, but Harry figured, if you were going to fuck up and inspire anger and disappointment in someone you loved, it was better to do so in one fell swoop rather than dragging it out and letting it fester over the course of however long you planned on fucking up.

He'd texted Remus before leaving so that Remus would know it hadn't been stolen. By a stranger, anyway.

Three miles into the woods at exactly eleven in the morning, the dirt road abruptly ended. Harry put the car in park and turned to look at Draco, who was scanning the trees surrounding them with a rather skeptical look on his face.

"Are you sure this is it?" the blonde questioned, raising a doubtful eyebrow at him.

Moody's number had been stored on Draco's phone and, naturally, the blonde used this to his advantage. He'd refused to hand it over until Harry promised not to go off anywhere potentially dangerous without him. Thusly, Draco had been present for half of the conversation Harry'd had with Moody, which had gone pretty much like so:

"_Who is this?"_ Moody had growled in lieu of a greeting.

"_Um,"_ Harry had stalled, the sheer unfriendliness of Moody's voice giving him pause, _"My name is Harry Potter. Is this, er, Moody?"_ Draco had laughed at him silently until Harry'd flicked his ear.

Moody didn't answer his question. _"Is this a secure line?"_

"_Secure…? It's a cell phone,"_ Harry answered, staring kind of disbelievingly at the ceiling. _"Rufus Scrimgeour told me to call you. About Tom Riddle?"_

And Moody had hung up.

It wasn't until about midnight that Draco's phone had buzzed with a text message with very specific directions to where Moody had apparently decided to meet them.

"Pretty sure," Harry answered with a shrug. He'd followed Moody's instructions to the letter, and this is where they'd ended up, in the middle of the woods in a car Harry hoped Remus wouldn't report as stolen.

Draco rolled his eyes and messed about with the radio, anything to disrupt the eerie silence of the woods. "We should've taken my car," the blonde grumbled for the umpteenth time. "At least it has a decent stereo system."

Harry didn't bother arguing with him. Draco's car was classic and flashy, bound to attract the attention of unwanted observers, whereas Remus' sedan blended in seamlessly. Besides, having the blonde's car sitting in the school's parking lot all morning at least gave Draco plausible deniability.

Why Draco was with him in the first place was… Well.

Just then, Harry sensed something move in his peripheral vision, fleeting, but when he turned to look –switching off the ignition entirely to stop the music and ignoring the annoyed look Draco shot him- nothing was there. He reached into his bag on the floorboard, a spark of trepidation keeping his eyes on the trees, alert.

"What?" Draco whispered, following Harry's line of sight in a rather paranoid fashion.

But after a minute passed with nothing happening, Harry was ready to dismiss the movement. It could've just been a bird. After all, this was the woods.

Beside him, Draco sighed. "He said eleven," the blonde complained, checking his phone once again for the time. "Which was half an hour ago. Either he's not coming or we're not in the right place. Let's just-"

When the blonde didn't continue, Harry finally took his eyes from the surrounding woods to look at him. His stomach dropped at what he saw.

"Hands up!" a man growled, opening Draco's door with one hand. He was pointing a gun at Harry with the other when the raven reached for the floorboard.

Harry's first impression of the man was that he must have been homeless, the possibility of him being Moody not crossing his mind. This man looked like a stray dog and he was looking at Harry with one blue eye while the other stared at a point a foot or so away, cloudy and wide.

Harry put his hands up and watched as the man directed Draco out of the car, keeping the gun trained on Harry the whole time. Draco seized up when the man patted down his sides one-handed, confiscating his wallet, his camera, and the phone in the blonde's trembling grip and demanding he keep his hands up.

Harry was next, and the man took his wallet and phone as well while he stood by the open driver's side door. The gun was now trained on Draco's wide-eyed face. Harry didn't dare move.

"Harry Potter, eh?" the man said, reading it off the raven's driver's license. He tossed it onto the car's roof, along with everything else, and looked back and forth between them curiously. "And a Malfoy."

"Are you… Mad-Eye Moody?" Harry asked as it occurred to him, breath coming quick, his hands still raised above his head.

The man ignored him, taking the keys out of the ignition and rifling through the bag on the floorboard, which contained nothing of consequence except his phone and… well.

"What's this?" the man –Moody- grunted, pulling a gun out of Harry's bag and examining it with his one good eye.

"That's, uh…" Harry trailed off, avoiding Draco's accusing eyes that said they _would_ be talking about this, just as soon as there wasn't a gun pointed at them.

"Came prepared, did you?" Moody said with a grin that didn't put Harry at ease whatsoever. Abruptly, he lowered the gun he'd had trained at Harry and, with a glance to their surroundings, started off into the woods. "Follow me, then," he said, shouldering Harry's bag. Remus' car beeped once as Moody locked it with the remote over his shoulder, like an afterthought.

With no other choice, Harry and Draco lowered their hands and started following. They were only a few steps away before Draco thought to turn back for his phone, which Moody had left laying on top of the car.

"No phones!" Moody circumvented before Draco's hand managed to touch it. He hadn't even had to look.

After they'd been walking for what felt like eternity, Harry figured he deserved it when Draco shoved him into a patch of dead blackberry thorns.

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

Moody's house wasn't a house. When the man finally came to a stop in a partial clearing, extended his arms and declared "Home sweet home" to an empty patch of grass, Harry began planning an escape. This had not been a good idea. What the hell had he been thinking, meeting some guy he didn't know in the middle of the woods? So what if Moody still had Remus' car keys. There was no time like the present to learn how to hotwire a car.

But then Moody started kicking at the ground, and Harry was too curious to slip back into the woods and the sanctuary of Remus' car. Besides, he had no idea where the hell it was.

Moody bent down and grunted as if trying to lift something heavy, and a moment later there was a large metal door sticking out of the ground in the shape of an octagon. It was an honest-to-god bunker, Harry realized, gaping as Moody disappeared inside, climbing down down down into the ground. The door was left open as if Moody expected them to follow him inside. Inside the _bunker_.

"I'm not going in there," Draco refused, shaking his head in a resolute fashion and crossing his arms over his chest mulishly. He was still hanging back by the edge of the woods, unwilling to come any closer.

"Well?" demanded Moody, just his head sticking up out of the ground. His arms came up to brace himself. "Come on, now. I don't have all day."

Harry took a step forward, but stopped when he realized that Draco was, in fact, not going anywhere. Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

"What's the hold-up, kid?" Moody questioned impatiently. "Get the lead out."

Draco had been completely silent the entire way through the woods, but now that a firearm was no longer in sight, the blonde felt safe enough to open his mouth. Harry winced preemptively.

"Listen, Sleeper Cell," Draco sneered at Moody with a hand on his hip, looking both condescending and unimpressed, "I don't know who you think you are, and I honestly don't _care_, but you are batshit crazy if you think I'm going into your fucking _lair_ after you pulled a gun on us, took our stuff, and practically forced us to _kidnap_ ourselves. _I'm_ not turning into part of your skin-suit, okay, Buffalo Bill? And I don't know about _this_ guy," the blonde said, pointing at Harry without looking at him, "but I'm not disappearing into a giant hole in the ground to help you plot against the government or prepare for the apocalypse or _whatever_ it is you do down there, alright? So you can just take me back to the car now."

To his credit, Moody only looked a fraction angrier than always seemed to look. "You're a mouthy little thing, ain't you?"

Harry let out strange, nervous barking noise that seemed to echo all around them, something between a hysterical laugh and an equally hysterical guffaw. When the other two stared at him, Harry cleared his throat and started for the bunker. Moody disappeared inside.

"Harry!" Draco hissed, shifting and obviously not wanting to be left in the middle of the woods, alone.

A foot away from the bunker, Harry sighed without turning to look back at him. If he saw Draco's face, he knew he'd give in. "What other option do we have?"

There was a moment of silence from Draco before the blonde was storming past him in righteous fury, growling out an, "I _hate_ you!" as he climbed down into the bunker.

But Harry honestly didn't think Moody was dangerous. Despite his temperament and the fact that he'd pulled a gun on them, Harry had a feeling that Moody was someone they could trust. Okay, well, it was more than a feeling. Draco actually had the sense to look him up the night before. Turns out, the guy had a connection with the police department.

When he'd made it down into the bunker, Draco was leaning against the wall by the ladder, leveling Moody with a distrustful gaze. Moody was glaring right back at him, arms crossed over his chest, but as soon as Harry's feet met the floor, the man looked at him and grunted.

"Let's talk."

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

Moody's bunker was far less 'doomsday survivalist' than either of them had anticipated. Sure, most of the walls were peppered with newsprint and printed articles, post-its and torn-off notebook paper, little memos written on receipts and takeout menus. There were about a dozen different laptops scattered across the room and a generator humming in a sort of built-in shelf, but overall the place was borderline homey. There was a tiny kitchen area off to one corner, a cot leaning against the wall near a coat rack that held Harry's bag. There was even a beat-up sofa sitting right in the middle of it all.

A notepad he had yet to actually write anything in tapping against his knee, Moody raised an expectant eyebrow when Harry stopped talking. "Is that it?"

Harry blinked in disbelief. "What do you mean, 'is that it'? We just told you everything."

"You told me a story that can't be verified," Moody corrected.

Harry shot off the threadbare sofa and leaned across the make-shift coffee table. "Look at my face!" he shouted, pointing at himself. The scrapes and bruises were almost healed now, giving his words less credibility than he would've liked. "You think I did this to myself?"

"Harry, just let it go," Draco said, pulling at the raven's sleeve. He understood why Harry was upset. This was probably the only person who could help them and he just… "He doesn't believe us."

"Now I didn't say I don't believe you," Moody told them gruffly. "But don't expect an arrest based on a story with no corroborating evidence."

Harry stood back and crossed his arms over his chest. "What would you say if I told you we _can_ prove it?"

Moody snorted at the raven's feeble attempt at dishonesty. "Bullshit."

"Well, that was a hell of a lot of effort for nothing," Draco grumbled, hand falling away from Harry's sleeve.

"What am I supposed to do, huh? This guy, this fucking…" Harry trailed off, jaw clenched in tightly coiled fury. "He doesn't slip up. He sent me to the hospital and I never even saw his face. The bastard _knew_ Draco wouldn't report him! Peter…" The raven shook his head. "Riddle caught him, I know he did. He knew Peter was going to turn himself in."

"Go home," Moody told them. "Forget about Riddle. Stay at school and you'll be fine. If you really want him behind bars, you won't say another word about any of this, not to anyone."

"That's your answer?" Harry said, giving a sardonic shrug. "Forget about it?"

"Harry," Draco said, taking hold of the raven's sleeve again as he noticed the angry clenching of Moody's jaw. Harry jerked out of his grasp.

"People are _dying_ and I should just forget about it!" the raven scoffed in disbelief. "What about you, Mystery Man? What are you gonna do? Hide out in your little hole in the ground and just _hope_ he screws up eventually?"

Draco barely even saw what happened. One second Harry was standing and the next he was on the floor, staring up at Moody in shock. The man had kicked his knees out from under him.

"You have no idea what I've given up to catch this monster," Moody growled down at Harry. "Do you think I'm living here for the hell of it? That I'm gathering intell from children for kicks?"

"You recognized my name, didn't you?" Harry said, grabbing hold of Moody's makeshift coffee table to pull himself up. "You think he killed my parents, too, don't you?"

Moody gave him a stony glare. "A fire killed your parents, kid."

"And Riddle just so happened to be there?" Harry questioned. He stood up, green eyes electrifying in their intensity. "We looked you up, you know. You were put on suspension and then retired that same year, and I think I know why."

Moody's face didn't change.

"You were an investigator with the Arson Division, right?" Harry said, raising an eyebrow. "You must've known Riddle had something to do with it. I'm guessing they didn't believe you."

As if nostalgic at the reminder, Moody's gaze drifted along the walls of the bunker, the endless information he'd accumulated. And then he shook his head. "He doesn't slip up."

This man had been carrying this around with him and following loose ends for over a decade. He'd fought for the justice of a couple of strangers who had burned to death saving their infant son. He'd lost a lot because of it. The fact that he was still fighting, perhaps more than anything, reaffirmed Harry's belief that he was someone to be trusted.

"Go home," Moody said again. "Get some sleep. You look like death warmed over."

But Moody wasn't going to tell them anything. They were a couple of kids playing with fire, who couldn't be trusted not to screw everything up. Harry scoffed and left without a word, throwing in the towel.

"You know your way back?" Moody questioned as Harry vanished from the top of the ladder, his bag over his shoulder.

Draco started for the ladder and shrugged. "We'll manage."

"Hey, kid."

Draco turned back only to find a hand striking up toward his face. He leapt back in shock with a startled yelp, almost tripping over his own feet. But Moody's hand stopped just before it could connect with his nose, leaving Draco looking up at him in disbelief.

"Palm heel strike," Moody told him, making the gesture again as if instructing him. "Do it right and you'll knock him out flat."

Draco nodded in understanding, eyes wide as saucers. He'd had some reservations about telling Moody the whole truth. The less-than-legal interrogation tactics Harry had executed with Peter, of course, but especially what had really happen that Christmas Eve in Riddle's office at Campaign Headquarters. It was personal, not to mention mortifying. But Harry was adamant on full disclosure. This was their only shot; they couldn't leave anything out. Still, it surprised him that Moody cared enough to show him a self-defense technique.

When he made it outside, Harry was watching the clouds, disenchanted and waiting for him. At the sound of Moody pulling the bunker door shut, metal on metal, the raven looked at him, sighed, and started for the trees.

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

Much like their arduous trek to the car, the drive back was mostly silent. Neither of them felt much like talking about what a failure meeting Moody had been. Still, when Draco noticed they'd missed the turn leading back to Hogwarts, he spoke up.

"Where are we going?" Draco asked around a yawn. "And you'd better say there's food involved."

Harry glanced at him, an uncertainty about his face that garnered Draco's full attention, before pulling off to the side of the road and putting the car in park. Draco watched him with a sense apprehension.

"Moody doesn't know anything we don't," Harry told him, staring at his hands on the steering wheel. "I'd bet you anything we're the first lead he's had in years. He's desperate."

"He's right," Draco told him and lifted a hand to halt the raven's oncoming protests. "Harry, what do you think is going to happen if keep snooping around like this?"

Just then, Draco had an awful thought; his parents being informed by one of Riddle's flunkies that both Harry and himself had died from a drug overdose. It would be in the news, everywhere, that Harry had lured him into the world of crystal meth. Draco would be dead, his killer would be mayor, and his own father –clueless- would have helped him get there.

"We're both gonna be in some serious trouble," Harry finished for him, nodding as if Draco had answered some unasked question and reaching forward to put the car back into drive. "I'll take you back to school."

Draco stopped his hand. "Nice try," he said, because Harry wasn't going off alone. Not again. "Do you have a plan?"

Harry sat back and lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "Sort of."

"Does it have anything to do with Art of War-style interrogations?" Draco questioned, only half-mocking. "Or armed vigilantes who live underground?"

Harry shook his head. "Your camera," he shrugged again. "Maybe some binoculars."

"We won't be needing this, then," Draco said, giving the raven a sharp look and kicking at Harry's bag, which had been deposited back onto the floorboard.

Harry winced, having hoped Draco had forgotten about the gun. He put the car in drive and headed back onto the road as a distraction. "It's not loaded."

"Then what's the point?" Draco scoffed. "It's probably been reported stolen since Christmas. God, Harry, do you _want_ to be arrested?"

Harry kept his eyes on the road. "I'll get rid of it, alright?" he said in an attempt to pacify the blonde. "It's just for show, anyway."

"Driving around with a stolen gun in a stolen car," Draco mused, making a face. "Don't I just have the best taste?"

Surprisingly, Harry laughed. "The worst," he agreed, his grin lighting up his face and taking away a weeks worth of sleepless nights. "Would buying lunch make up for it?"

"A little," Draco smiled, internally marveling at how one laugh from Harry could make his mood do a complete one-eighty. "Where are we headed after that?"

Harry glanced at him shiftily, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. "Police department."

Draco widened his eyes at the raven, incredulous. "Oh, that's _smart_," he scoffed.

Harry shrugged. "I can't think of anywhere else he would be."

"Riddle?" the blonde questioned and continued without needing confirmation. "It's almost three on a weekday. He wouldn't be there. He'd be back at the Manor by now."

The car suddenly swerved partially into the wrong lane, Draco's arm jerking forward to stop his collision with the dash. An oncoming SUV blared its horn at them as Harry jerked the car back into the right lane.

"Jesus Christ, Harry!"

Harry's eyes were wide and shocked, more from what Draco had said than their sudden brush with death.

"The Manor?" he parroted. "As in, your_ house_, the Manor?"

"He's marrying my aunt," Draco told him, hand pressed over his still racing heart. "They've been staying there since Thanksgiving."

"At your _house_?" Harry said again, head jerking back and forth between Draco and the road. "And you're just now telling me? That's not- Wait, Thanksgiving? Is that why you wanted me to stay that night?"

"No," Draco told him. "I wanted you to stay because I missed you. I didn't know Riddle was a sadist pervert until later. Now do you think you could you watch the road?"

All was silent for about thirty seconds before Draco glanced at Harry, gauging his reaction. What he saw made him glare. The bastard was smiling.

"God. What." Draco demanded.

Harry shook his head, unable to smother the grin overtaking his face. "So you did miss me."

It was strange. Draco had been the cause of the dark cloud that had been persistently hanging over Harry's head for two weeks now, but it seemed he was also the only one who could lift it.

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

Lunch was a paper bag affair tucked between them in the console, much to Draco's very vocal displeasure. They'd followed Riddle from Malfoy Manor to a restaurant in East Merlin and parked inconspicuously across the street. Harry had liberated Draco's camera, zooming in on what he could see of Riddle. Lucky for them, the chief of police seemed to have insisted on a window seat.

"Oh, hey," Harry said as he watched a woman enter the restaurant. "That's my anger management counselor!"

Draco leaned into Harry, head to head, to get a better look. "That's my _aunt_," he said, watching as Bella sat down across from Riddle inside the restaurant.

Harry looked at him in confusion. "So… She was trying to dig information out of me? To drive me into insanity with her counseling techniques? What?"

"I'm guessing the former," Draco shrugged, taking the camera and leaning back in his seat, feet propped up on the dash.

Harry blinked widely, still trying to wrap his head around it. "Well, don't I feel special."

"This is stupid," Draco told him, watching as Riddle and Bella did absolutely nothing of interest. "They're not doing anything. It's like the worst reality show ever."

"You have a better idea?"

"Well, what do you think he's going to do, Harry? He's a pretty hands-off kind of drug lord, okay? He's not going to lead us straight to his meth lab or whatever in broad daylight."

"Well, we're already here," Harry said, dipping a French fry into his milkshake and ignoring the revolted look Draco shot him for it. "Let's just wait and see if anything happens."

Draco sighed. "Private investigation is a lot less fun than they make it seem on TV."

Their little stake-out was a bust. Three hours later, and nothing. Everything Riddle did during the _three hours_ Harry and Draco spent watching him, everywhere he went, seemed perfectly legit. The shadiest thing he and Bella did was stop at a jewelry store on the way back to Malfoy Manor. Bella came out admiring a new tennis bracelet. A tennis bracelet, for chrissake.

So after following Riddle back to Malfoy Manor, they decided to call it a day. A long, pointless, completely ineffectual day. On the drive back, Draco made him pull over at a gas station to use the restroom.

"_You're_ going to use a gas station bathroom," Harry stated doubtfully, opening the gas cap on Remus' car. He figured the least he could do after stealing Remus' car was to make sure the tank was full when he returned it.

"As long as I don't have to touch anything," Draco told him, boots clicking against the pavement as he made his way to the door.

It was your average, everyday gas station, Draco supposed, but the look the clerk gave him when he walked in unsettled him. The guy was wide-eyed and twitchy, yellow teeth and sickly thin, and he reminded Draco instantly of Peter. It was disturbing, the fact that he could now recognize a meth addict when he saw one and know immediately, but nevertheless, Draco ignored him and headed for the bathroom.

It was pitch black inside when he opened the door and Draco was forced to feel around for a light switch. He came up short, however, and had to let go of the door –his only source of light- to search further.

The door shut by itself with a soft click, leaving Draco in near darkness. The only light came from under the door, and illuminated in the little source of light, Draco noticed with surprise, was a pair of shoes that definitely didn't belong to him.

His first thought was that someone was standing behind the door, but a second later he stopped breathing. The shoes stepped out of the light, disappearing into the shadows and moving closer. Heart hammering in his chest, Draco backed himself into the wall behind him as soundlessly as possible.

Except what was behind him wasn't a wall.

"Guess who?"

The voice that Draco had no trouble putting a face to slithered up his spine and he tried to scream, tried to run for the door, but a hand came around him to clamp over his mouth. If that didn't silence him, the hand that was suddenly around his throat did.

"Now, now," Riddle soothed, speaking into the skin of Draco's neck. "We don't have enough time for that."

The hand at his throat vanished and reappeared around his waist, holding him tight.

"Now I'm going to let go of your mouth," Riddle told him, "but if you scream, I'll have to cut off your air supply, alright?"

The words were said so casually, so matter-of-fact, that Draco had no doubt Riddle meant it. Jerkily, he nodded, but as soon as Riddle's hand was off his mouth he gasped out, "Let me go."

His own words unsettled him, echoing loud in the tiny bathroom even though his voice was just above a whisper, angry and panicked and scared. Why he was staying quiet, he didn't know, but he didn't want to find out what Riddle would do if he shouted it.

"I only want to apologize," Riddle said, as though Draco was being unreasonable. "I admit it, Draco. I misjudged you and things got a bit rough. I'm very sorry for that."

But Draco could barely hear him over the thoughts racing through his head. Everything that came out of the man's mouth just went right under the umbrella term of crazy. He jerked his elbow, aiming for the man's stomach but getting his forearm instead. He couldn't see a thing.

"Harry knows I'm in here," Draco snarled. "He's waiting right out-"

"I know," Riddle told him, his tone patient. "And I don't blame you for being frightened-"

Draco's temper flared. He stomped as hard as he could on Riddle's foot and grinded down mercilessly with his heel. A nine-hundred dollar Jimmy Choo boot versus a loafer. Riddle hissed into his neck and grabbed his throat again.

Instead of issuing another warning, Riddle finished his sentence. "But stalking me, Draco?"

Draco stopped struggling. "I never-"

"I've been a cop for nearly twenty years," Riddle said, idle as his fingers trailed down the column of Draco's throat. "Do you really think I can't tell when I'm being followed?"

Draco had a horrifying thought. What if Riddle wasn't alone? What if Riddle's flunkies were outside dealing with Harry? Blind panic settled into his chest. He lashed out, breathing so fast it sounded like he was sobbing.

Riddle lost grip of the blonde's waist for a split second and Draco tried to bolt for the door. He didn't make it far. Next thing he knew he was being slammed against the wall so hard he crumbled onto the dirty tiled floor like a ragdoll, the breath knocked out of him and the back of his head throbbing from where it'd hit the wall.

Riddle tsked in disapproval and crouched down in front of him, his breath hot on Draco's face. He seemed distracted suddenly. "Did you get my present?"

It was Christmas all over again, and Draco had been doing so well pretending it had never happened. It wasn't that long ago, not at all, but so much had happen since then that it felt like years. Everything came rushing back to him at once, the memory of helplessness, the sound of Riddle's phone ringing off the hook, the smell of his cologne. Draco swore he could taste peppermint.

"Draco, don't be this way," Riddle said when the blonde said nothing and didn't look up. He pressed an apologetic kiss to Draco's jaw and pushed the blonde's disheveled hair out of his face. "We had a misunderstanding. That's no reason for this sort of behavior. Stalking me. Calling me names."

Draco's breath hitched before he even realized what Riddle meant. Calling him names?

Riddle seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. "Oh, what was it you said?" he mused. "'Sadist pervert,' was it?"

Everything suddenly seemed to stop. Draco thought back to earlier, when he was still in the car with Harry. Had Riddle been there, watching them, listening? He couldn't have been. They were on the road at the time and no one else was in the car, which meant…

Riddle took hold of the blonde's chin, making Draco look at him. His eyes had gotten used to the dark, but Riddle's face was still nothing but shadows. "Are you trying to hurt my feelings?"

Draco swallowed convulsively. "H-How-?"

"That isn't important," Riddle told him, his hand coming up to smooth back Draco's hair, petting him. The blonde flinched. "What's important is that we understand each other."

Just because he was expecting it didn't mean it wasn't painful. When Riddle wrenched his head back by the fist he had tangled in Draco's hair, the blonde forced himself not to make a sound. He wouldn't give Riddle the satisfaction.

Riddle pulled Draco up off the floor by the grip on his hair. "I don't want you and that boyfriend of yours following me around anymore, Draco. It's a serious invasion of my privacy," Riddle said, his gentle voice in stark contrast to the violent grip. "Do you understand that?"

Not trusting his voice, Draco only nodded.

"Excellent," Riddle purred, yanking the blonde in close. "I'm glad we've cleared that up. We certainly wouldn't want dear Harry back in the hospital, would we?"

It was a threat on Harry's life and that, more than the pain of his scalp, more than the blind panic the man inspired in him, ignited a rage so intense in the pit of his stomach, Draco's hand stuck forward without a second's thought. Riddle wasn't expecting it, but he still managed to reel his head back and out of the way before the heel of Draco's palm managed to land a blow.

And then Riddle had him by the throat again, tight, and Draco couldn't breath. "Now, that wasn't very nice. I'm starting to wonder if Harry is becoming a bad influence."

Draco longed to tell him to go fuck himself, but he was already getting dizzy. His lungs were starting to burn. He couldn't breath. Panic seized all thought and he _couldn't breath_.

"I'm afraid you haven't grasped the severity of the situation," Riddle told him, whispering. "It wouldn't take much to remove Harry Potter from the picture. Or your parents, for that matter. After all, accidents happen all the time."

Draco's pulse was pounding in his ears, louder than the slithering undercurrent of Riddle's voice. He clawed at Riddle's hands, trying in vain to pry them off and cutting into his neck in the process. His vision was turning black.

"I hold your fate in the palm of my hand," Riddle said, gentle and calm. "You could wake up an orphan tomorrow. Your parents could become convinced you need to be admitted to a rehabilitation clinic to recover from your rampant drug addition." Riddle leveled their eyes and smiled, eyes alight with amusement. "You could die in a gas station bathroom."

And then he let go. Draco choked on his first gasp of air, lungs on fire. Heaving and coughing, he held the wall in an effort not to pass out.

"I'll keep in touch," Riddle told him, smoothing a hand up and down Draco's back as the boy struggled to catch his breath. "It's been a pleasure seeing you again, Draco. It really has."

Draco listened to the slow tap-tap-tap of Riddle's shoes against the tile as he walked away, and then he was blinded by the glare of the bathroom light. He winced, and when he opened his eyes again, Riddle was disappearing through the door.

"Don't be a stranger."

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

Harry had been waiting by the car nearly ten minutes now, watching people come and go. And while it wasn't unusual for Draco to spend an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom, this was ridiculous. He got a bad feeling around minute five, but nobody that went in or came out of the gas station looked at all suspicious, so he chalked it up to paranoia. But that was five minutes ago.

The man working the register was an Addict with a capital-A. It was the first thing Harry noticed. Spend any amount of time with a chicken head and you know what to look for. The second thing he noticed was the nervous glances he kept shooting the men's room, wiping sweaty hands on his tattered jeans.

Harry practically ran for the restroom. The door wasn't locked, so he pulled it open without a second thought.

"Draco?"

And there he was, just washing his face in the sink. Harry's shoulders sagged in obvious relief. But then Draco looked up at him through the mirror, eyes red, face flushed, and Harry knew something was wrong.

"Shut the door," Draco told him, ripping out a few paper towels to dry his face. He was breathy heavily, slow and deep. His voice was off, raw and hoarse like he'd been screaming.

Doing as told, Harry walked in and shut the door, locking it for good measure. "What happened?"

"I think…" Draco said, whispering like he thought someone was listening. "I think Riddle bugged Lupin's car."

Which… Harry couldn't even process that. He put a hand on Draco's back, and only then did he realize the blonde was shaking. It turned his blood cold. "What are you-?"

"He was _here_, Harry," Draco told him, eyes wide and dead serious. "He was right here, as soon as I walked in."

"_Here_? Riddle was-" Draco shushed him, and he lowered his voice to a whisper. "He was in _here_?"

"He was waiting for me," the blonde said, dropping his eyes and sighing as he tossed the paper towels into a wastepaper basket by the sink. "He knew we were following him. He knew- Harry, he knew things I've only said to you, alone, inside of that car."

"Are you okay?" the raven questioned, pulling the blonde closer and looking him over. And then he saw the blonde's neck, red and already bruising, and he felt like sobbing. "Shit. What did he-? Did he hurt you? Are you-?"

In that second, Harry hated himself more than ever before. He'd been maybe fifty feet away, waiting in the parking lot like an idiot, letting Riddle get his fucking hands on Draco. Again. For the second goddamn time.

Draco shook his head, clearing his throat like he couldn't help it. "I'm okay," he whispered, and put his arms around the raven's neck, holding on and just breathing. "Let's just- He could be listening, okay? Let's just go back to school."

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

When they opened the door to dorm room number sixty-six, four pairs of eyes zeroed in on them instantly. Before they even stepped foot inside, all of their roommates were on their feet, wanting answers.

"Well, it's about time," Ron told them, glaring at them and snapping his phone shut. "You know, at least one of you could've answered your phone."

"What happened to you?" Seamus demanded, looking even angrier than Ron. "You wouldn't believe the amount of shit we've been though today because of-"

It might've been the haunted look on both their faces, the fact that Draco seemed seconds away from collapsing, the bruises circling his throat, or just the desperate way they clung to each other, Harry didn't know, but everyone in the room went suddenly quiet.

Blaise was the first to speak. "Jesus Christ, what happened to you?"

"Please, guys, not now," Harry sighed, one arm out of his jacket. All he wanted to do was hide away behind the curtains of Draco's bed and sleep until this nightmare was over. Draco had the same idea as him, apparently, because when Harry looked, the blonde was already climbing into bed fully dressed.

But then all movement from the blonde suddenly stopped. He backed away from his bed as if a monster was lurking beneath his covers. And then Harry saw it. A plain white box was sitting in the middle of Draco's bed. Everyone seemed to notice something was wrong, some change in the air that drew everyone's attention to Draco.

Draco took a step back and pointed at it. "What is this?"

Everyone looked around at each other cluelessly.

Dean shrugged. "It's been there since we got out of class."

No one knew how it got there, Harry realized. Draco looked at him, and it was clear that he had no intention of opening the box. Something in the look on his face made Harry move closer. He knew that nothing good could possibly come from opening it, knew that he would regret it afterward, but nevertheless, Harry picked the box up and flipped the top off, like ripping off a band-aid.

Rose petals fell to the floor like autumn leaves, velvet red and lazy. Harry tipped the box over onto Draco's bed, more petals scattering. In the middle of it all was a belt.

Harry held it up for Draco to see. "What the hell is a belt supposed to mean?" he questioned, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. The flowers Riddle had sent, at least, had meant something.

Draco ran a shaking hand across his face. "It's mine. He- At the fundraiser," the blonde told him, his words disjointed and uncomfortable like he detested the taste of them. Finally, biting his lip, his eyes dropped from the belt down to the floor. "Riddle-" He cut himself off with a wince, looking frustrated. "I left it," he explained carefully, glancing up at Harry as though willing him to understand what he couldn't bring himself to say.

And Harry did. Liquid rage shot through his veins as he looked again at the belt. What he saw made him throw the thing against the wall.

The insane motherfucker had his initials engraved on Draco's belt and sent it back in a box of rose petals.

Draco must've seen it, too, because he was backing away, away from the blank box and mess of rose petals on his bed, from his own tainted belt like the thing would come to life and wrap itself around his throat. "I don't want to do this anymore."

Looking back at him, Harry noticed the faint tremors running through Draco's frame, the way he kept shooting glances all over the room like he thought someone was watching. The anger Harry had felt seconds before melted away at the sight of him. The blonde looked terrified.

Ron was looking back and forth between them like they were insane. "What the hell is going on?!"

Draco had retracted his steps all the way to the door. "Harry, I don't want to be here," the blonde stated desperately.

Harry was already shrugging back into his jacket. He snatched up Draco's keys from the blonde's desk and grabbed his bag off the couch on his way to the door. He took Draco's hand. "Come on."

Ron spluttered, looking indignant. "Hey!"

But they were already gone. "Later!" the raven promised before the door closed behind them.

Their safe haven had been ripped away from them. They couldn't be inside the dorm anymore and feel anything but fear. Riddle had successfully pervaded the one place they'd ever truly felt at home.

"It could be anywhere," Harry mused, slipping through the back exit of the entrance building as quietly as he could, locking it behind him. "It could be in the dorm."

"He knew I called him a pervert and exactly where we were going," Draco told him, breathing a sigh of relief when his car came into view at the very edge of the parking lot. "It has got to be in that car."

Harry gave him a look. "Who says there's just the one?"

Draco looked at his car and shook his head, taking a step back. "I can't do this."

"It's just a scare tactic," Harry said, hoping like hell that it was true. "That's all it is. Why else would he let you know about it?"

"I don't- Harry, the paranoia is going to drive us crazy."

"I'm sorry," the raven told him, pulling at his hair in frustration. He was so out of his depth; he didn't know what to do. "God, I'm so- I never should've let you come with me today."

"Because I'm such a fragile little daffodil, right? Is that it?" Draco sneered, suddenly angry at the other boy for no good reason at all. "If I'm so fragile, Harry, if I'm so fucking breakable, then why did you?"

"Because I miss you!" Harry shot back before immediately wishing he hadn't. Surprise overtook the anger on Draco face and Harry sighed in resignation. "Why do you think? Even after- God, after all the shit you pulled, you'd think I would learn."

Draco didn't have anything to say to that, so he didn't say anything. Instead, he turned away and tried to calm down. He didn't want to fight, he didn't want to blame Harry, but it was just so hard not to.

"Look," Harry told him, and his voice, if nothing else, was calmer. "You don't have to do anything you don't want, alright? This has got to end, Draco, and soon, but you don't have to be part of it."

Which was complete bullshit. Of course Draco had to be a part of it. He couldn't let Harry go off and get himself killed. And maybe that didn't matter to Harry, but Draco couldn't let that happen. He couldn't. Like it or not, he'd given the raven a piece of himself. Losing Harry… Losing Harry meant losing everything. He would never recover.

"Come on," the raven said, reaching for the blonde's hand. "He's just trying to scare us. We'll get a room or something, alright? It's okay."

Rage lifted over Draco like a tidal wave and he slapped Harry's hands away. "No, it's not!" Draco snapped, suddenly furious again, like all the fear and worry and frustration, just everything, was catching up to him in one fell swoop. "We're not okay! Nothing is ever okay! What happened tonight- This is _not okay_!"

"Draco!" Harry grabbed him by the shoulders, stilling him. They couldn't do this here. "Babe, just get in the car!"

"Hey!"

Harry and Draco snapped out of whatever argument they were having, turning around to face whoever had called out to them. For a second they were blinded by the bright glare of a flashlight, and then they were staring at Oliver Wood.

"What the hell is going on?"

Harry cursed and let his hands fall away from the blonde beside him, turning a glare on their sudden intruder. Oliver Wood was the last thing they needed right now.

The expression on Oliver's face gave Draco a clear picture of what they must look like. Draco screaming at Harry in the school's parking lot in the dark after they'd been missing all day, his eyes red like he'd been crying, ugly bruises in the shape of hands around his neck, and Harry trying to get him into the car. In a nutshell, it looked bad. Really bad. And while it was nice that Oliver was worried about him, Draco just wanted him to leave. He could not deal with this right now on top of everything else.

Draco sighed, his panic receding to make way for a bone-deep exhaustion. "Nothing," the blonde said, crossing over to the passenger side of the car.

Harry shook his head, turning his back on Oliver as the TA approached. The flashlight switched off, bringing a moment of complete darkness before their eyes adjusted to the light the moon was providing them.

Oliver scoffed. "Nothing? Draco-"

Halfway to the driver's side door, Harry turned and bared his teeth in a snarl. "Mind your own business!"

Oliver looked from Harry hateful face to Draco and sighed. "You told him."

Draco's eyes widened, pausing midway into the passenger seat to stare at Oliver in disbelief.

Bemused, Harry turned to him in question. "Told me what?"

"Nothing!" the blonde repeated. Cursing under his breath, Draco shot Oliver a pointed look that he hoped conveyed what an idiot he thought the TA was for bringing that particular topic up for conversation.

But now Harry wasn't moving, facing off against Oliver as if daring him to come any closer. Oliver kept his distance; a hand raised palm-up at Harry as though placating a rabid animal.

"Harry!" Draco demanded, wanting to get away as soon as physically possible and so not in the mood for this Neanderthal posturing shit. It was only a matter of time before somebody else showed up.

"Draco, I don't know what's going on here, but you're both in a hell of a lot of trouble already," Oliver told him, his voice calm and authoritative. "Do _not_ get in that car with him."

Glaring, Harry shoved him hard in the chest. "Just who the fuck are you to tell him what to do?"

Oliver bit his lip and resolutely did not acknowledge Harry at all. "Draco," he said patiently, an unspoken 'come with me' inherent in his tone.

Indignant at being ignored and enraged, absolutely _livid_ that Oliver thought Draco needed protecting from _Harry_ of all people, Harry shoved him again even harder, forcing the TA back a couple of steps. "Stop _talking_ to him!" Harry'd had enough of this guy, had enough of him coming around and making a bad situation worse, had enough of him period. He was the last straw on a bad day.

"Goddamn it, Harry, _let's go_!" Draco growled, rolling his eyes and disappearing into the car with a slam of the door.

Finally, Oliver met the raven's eyes. "I don't know what your problem is, but-"

"Stop pretending like you know _anything_," Harry glared, because this was the same old song and dance. People will believe what they want to believe, and Oliver wanted to believe that Harry was the worst kind of animal. There was no convincing him otherwise, so Harry headed for the car.

"I know where kids like you end up," the TA told him, eyes narrowed in contempt as the raven walked away. "You're not taking him with you."

Harry barked out an incredulous laugh without turning back. "Yeah?" he mocked, jerking the door open and climbing inside. He shrugged, giving Oliver a brazen grin, just daring him to do something. "Try and stop me."

They drove away with Oliver watching the car, Harry watching as Oliver disappeared in the rear-view mirror. Draco was slouched into his seat, not looking at anything, arms crossed over his chest and sulking.

Harry went on autopilot as he drove, his mind going over their run-in with Wood. He was embarrassed at the way he'd handled the situation, at how he'd acted exactly the way Oliver had expected him to. Like an asshole, in other words. But he couldn't stand the way Oliver had looked at Draco as if the blonde was some victim he was intent upon saving. And Harry… Harry was the monster he needed to be saved from.

It wasn't what Oliver had thought, but it wasn't that far from the truth, either. It was true that being around Harry was the easiest way to get hurt. His track record practically spoke for itself. And yes, Draco had no business being friends with him, being _anything_ to him. But Harry really didn't need the reminder, the reminder that no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, he would never he good enough. He'd never be enough of anything.

It stayed like this, the atmosphere in the car stagnant and frustrated, for several long, tense moments before Draco got fed up with it and opened his mouth.

"'Try and stop me,'" Draco parroted, his thoughts running along the same vein as Harry's. "Moron."

"What was he talking about?" Harry questioned despite himself. He knew he should just let it go, but that had always been his problem. He didn't let anything go unless it was pried forcefully out of his hands.

"Nothing," Draco sighed, resting his head on the chilly window. "It doesn't matter."

Harry drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "If it doesn't matter then why can't you tell me?"

"Because you'll just freak out about it like you do with everything!" Draco told him, his patience running thin. "God, Harry, this caveman bullshit has seriously got to go. I already told you, okay? I don't want him."

"That doesn't mean he doesn't want you," Harry said, forcing himself to stay cool. "I won't freak out, okay? I just want to know."

"Why?"

"Because you're-!" Harry cut off abruptly, looking mortified at himself and shaking his head. "You know what? Never mind."

But Draco was already smirking, turned around fully in his seat now to face Harry, who was refusing to look at him. "Were you about to say 'mine'?" the blonde inquired, his tone of voice a kind of disbelieving amusement that only intensified as Harry went a little red. Draco laughed in delight. "Oh, my god, you were totally about to say 'mine', weren't you?"

Harry wanted to slam his head into the steering column and die. "That wasn't- No," he denied, defensive and oh-so unconvincing. He groaned at himself. "I don't know."

He could feel Draco watching him, and while he still sort of wanted the ground to come up and swallow him whole, he was glad his self-induced embarrassment had managed to raise the blonde's spirits a little.

"Aw, it's okay," Draco teased, nudging the raven's leg with the toe of his boot. "I could be yours."

"Put your seatbelt on," Harry groused, looking pained.

Draco laughed softly, watching a side of Harry that he hadn't seen in a while, a side that he missed. Always choking up at the mushy love stuff.

"He kissed me," Draco admitted easily with an indifferent shrug, watching for the raven's reaction.

Harry nodded, over and over again, eyes fixed on the road. His fingers drummed on the steering wheel. His jaw clench, unclenched, clenched again. Looked at Draco.

"He kissed you," the raven said, accepting and nonchalant except for how he'd said it through his teeth.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Would you watch the road?"

Harry looked back at the road. He hardly looked like he was breathing, he was so tense.

Draco sighed and turned forward in his seat. "You're freaking out."

"No, I'm not," the raven muttered.

Draco waited a beat, and then-

"Did you kiss him back?" the raven questioned.

"Christ," Draco laughed.

Harry gave a defensive shrug. "What?"

"You just can't help yourself, can you?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I was never this pathetic before I met you."

"How do you think I felt when you were chasing after Smith?" Draco retorted, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice even now.

Harry had to force himself to watch the road. He thought about how he felt every time Oliver so much as talked to the blonde, the agony he felt when Remus said they seemed close. He thought about how Zach and Draco always seemed seconds away from ripping each other apart. And then he felt like an asshole.

"I'm sorry," he said, because he was. He _really_ was. If Draco felt even a fraction of what he did, and had to watch silently as Harry went through that stupid, messed-up _thing_ with Zach… Harry didn't want to think of what would've happened if the tables were turned, if it was _him_ having to watch _Draco_ fuck around with some other guy, _want_ some other guy, but something told him bloodshed and jail time would've been involved. "God, Draco. I didn't even- Why the hell don't you hate me?"

"Because I'm too busy doing the exact opposite," Draco told him, completely matter-of-fact. Yesterday's news, like Harry should already know.

And yeah, Draco had used him, Draco had lied to him for months, but Harry had been breaking his heart for just as long. Ever since they met, Harry had always felt like Draco had him wrapped around his finger, like one word from the blonde could make him feel ten feet tall but could cut him to pieces just as easily. Draco had such a huge part of him it was terrifying. He didn't know it worked the other way around.

"I guess we both fucked up," Harry said to himself, pulling to a stop at a red light. And then a cab pulled up in another lane. "Oh, shit."

Draco blinked at him. "What?"

"Get down!" Harry ducked, pulling the blonde down with him.

"Why?" Draco questioned, alarmed. "What's-?"

"Sirius and Remus," Harry told him, peeking up over the dash to watch the cab. "They must not recognize your car."

"Oliver probably called Lupin the minute we left," Draco theorized, and considering what Oliver had probably assumed, he really couldn't blame the guy.

"Which means there's no reason we can't make a pit-stop at the apartment," Harry considered, looking over at Draco for his opinion.

Draco shrugged. "And after that?"

"After that," Harry sighed, sitting upright after the light turned green and the cab drove right passed them. "You take your car back to Hogwarts and tell anyone who asks that you haven't seen me." Harry held up a hand to stall Draco's inevitable objection. "I know you don't want to be there, but I'm not leaving you somewhere by yourself and I'm sure as hell not taking you home while that creepy fuck's still living there."

Draco was looking at him like he'd lost his goddamn mind. "I'm not going back without you."

"We don't have time to be stubborn, Draco," Harry told him. "You said yourself you don't want to do this."

"Well, I'm over it," the blonde replied, and punched Harry in the shoulder when the raven gave him an incredulous look. "No, I know I freaked out a little, but if you were ambushed in a gas station bathroom and nearly strangled to death, then you would've, too."

"All the more reason you should stay out of it."

"He threatened to kill you," Draco told him, and paused just to let that sink in for a moment. "Did I tell you that? He threatened to kill my _parents_. Harry... I just want this to be over."

And that… Harry couldn't refuse him that. He wanted it to be over, too. That's all he's _ever_ wanted, right from the start, to put all this mess behind him and move on. And he really, really hated to admit it, but it didn't seem so impossible with Draco sitting next to him.

"We don't leave each other's sight," Harry stipulated. "Not for a second. From this moment on, we are attached at the hip, okay?"

Draco smirked, reaching over to lace their fingers together. "So only a little more codependent than usual."

Harry squeezed his hand and didn't bother trying to refute. "It's probably gonna be dangerous," he said, a warning he knew wouldn't be heeded. "And there's a really good chance we'll run into Riddle again."

Draco refused, absolutely refused to let that scare him. "What's the plan? And please tell me it's better than the last one."

"Not really," Harry admitted. "We've got to see Peter."

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**Author's Note:** Okay, so I thought I knew exactly what this chapter would contain. I had everything planned out. After I started writing it, though, I hated it. It was predictable and exhausting, so I deleted it. And then this happened, unplanned and impulsive, and I kept it. I'll leave it up to you guys whether that was a mistake or not.

Also, I've really got to apologize for taking so damn long to update. I start a new chapter thinking "Oh, this won't take long at all" and then RL happens and I think "It's okay, I hasn't been _that_ long" and then _more_ shit happens and I'm like "Christ on a cracker, where have I _been_ for three months?" So yeah, I am ashamed. Sorry. :(


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